and then my life will have been well bestowed."

Mr. Ewart left the two brothers alone together, and with a slow sad step, proceeded along the corridor, proposing to visit the gardener's cottage, to which Jack had now returned.

He met Clementina on the staircase.

"Oh! Mr. Ewart, is it possible?—is he really dying?" exclaimed the young lady in unaffected sorrow: so young, and with everything to make life sweet; it is really too dreadful to think of! Does he know the doctor's opinion?"

"He knows all, and is perfectly tranquil.” "What wonderful strength of mind !” "The Lord is his strength," replied the clergyman, and passed on.

Many an anxious inquiry after the young lord had Mr. Ewart to answer from different members of the household, before he reached the gardener's cottage. He was desirous to

know what effect his own deliverance and Ernest's danger would have upon the mind of young Lawless.

He did not see Jack as he entered the cot

tage, and asked the gardener's wife where he

was.

"Oh, he's there on the bed, sir, with his face to the wall. He's never moved, nor

spoken, nor tasted a morsel, since he heard that the young lord lay a-dying. I can't get him to answer a question; he lies there as still as a stone. I can't say if he feels it or not, he has such a strange sullen way.”

Mr. Ewart seated himself close to the boy, who appeared to take no notice of his presence.

"You are not suffering, I hope, from your fall? Yours has been a wonderful preservation; but for the generous courage of Lord Fontonore, you would have been now before the judgment-seat of God."

Lawless gave no sign that he heard him. "I have just quitted his sick-room," continued the clergyman; "he is quite calm in the prospect of death, for his life has for long been one preparation for it. The last words that I heard him utter were of you; he was recommending you to the kindness of his brother.

Lawless convulsively clutched his pillow.

"He said," added Mr. Ewart, "that if you

were but saved for better things, his life would have been well bestowed."

Jack suddenly half raised himself upon his bed, then dashed himself down again, with frantic violence. "I can't bear this," he cried in a choking voice; "I wish he would hate me, abuse me, trample upon me; anything would be better than this!"

Yes, under all the deep crust of selfishness, malice, and pride, lay a spring of feeling, in the depths of that unconverted heart. That spring had been reached, the deep buried waters gushed forth, and the clergyman left the cottage with a faint but precious hope that his loved pupil had not suffered in vain.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE CLOSE OF THE PILGRIMAGE.

"The foundation upon which the city was framed was higher than the clouds: they therefore went up through the regions of the air, sweetly talking as they went, being comforted because they safely got over the river, and had such glorious companions to attend them."-Pilgrim's Progress.

IT would be unnecessary, as well as painful, to mark every step of the progress of the

young Pilgrim through the last stage of his earthly journey. He had no mental doubts or gloom; his mind was calm and unclouded, sometimes so vividly realizing the joy set before him that bodily pain seemed almost forgotten. Often he appeared buried in thought, as though his spirit were already holding converse with things unseen, before quitting the frail suffering body.

"Charles," said he one night to his brother, who sat bathing his temples with vinegar and water, "how gently and lovingly the picture of my mother seems to look on me now. Perhaps she is waiting to welcome me on the blissful shore, where there is no more parting and pain. You will lay me in the vault beside her."

Charles breathed a heavy sigh.

"I have been thinking of that monument," continued Ernest, "so strangely prepared for the living. But the lines upon it could never suit me now—the mists of earth' have long since stained the snow-flake.""

"It is more spotless than ever," whispered Charles "is it not written, though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow;

though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."

"Yes," murmured the sufferer, "Jesus can present sinners faultless before the presence of his Father. He has loved us, and washed us in His own precious blood. This is all my hope." After a short silence, he continued"My eyes are heavy with long waking, dear Charley. I wish that I could hear you sing to me once more; I feel as though it would soothe this dull pain."

"I do not think that I could sing now." "Not one little hymn-my favourite hymn? But if the effort pains you, do not try."

But Charles did try, though with unsteady voice, whose tones sounded strange to himself. In the quiet night, with no listener near but one sufferer on earth, and the happy angels above, he sang this simple evening hymn :

HYMN.

After labour, how sweet is rest!

Gently the weary eyelids close;

As the infant sleeps on its mother's breast,
The child of God may in peace repose.

Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,
We are His Who gave His life for our sake.
He to whom darkness is as light,

Tenderly guards His slumbering sheep;