The doctor arrived after some delay, and examined the injured boy, who shrank from his touch in uncontrollable pain. Dr. Mansell looked grave, and drew Mr. Hope aside.

"I should wish, for my own satisfaction," he said, "that other advice should be called in. The case is, I fear, of a serious nature-could not a messenger be despatched upon horseback at once to bring Dr. Ashby? a surgeon of great eminence, who resided in a town at some distance.

"One shall be sent directly," replied Mr. Hope. "You do not apprehend any danger?" he added, speaking in a low, earnest tone.

"We will say nothing till Dr. Ashby's opinion is given. I hope that there is no cause for alarm;" but the manner of the medical man contradicted his words.

Intense was the anxiety with which Charles and Mr. Ewart awaited the coming of the surgeon. How many, alas, have known that terrible period of waiting for the arrival of the doctor, when minutes seem lengthening into hours for the life of a loved one is at stake! Charles was in such a state of feverish excitement, that Mr. Hope positively forbade his entering the apartment where the poor sufferer lay. Long before any one else could hear them, he caught the sound of carriage-wheels, and was ready at the bridge to receive the surgeon, whose lips would decide the fate of his brother.

Dr. Ashby was a stout, bald-headed man, with a quick, penetrating eye, and a manner which inspired confidence; decided, without being harsh. Charles could

hardly have been prevented from following him into Ernest's room, in which Mr. Ewart and Dr. Mansell now were, but Mrs. Hope kept him back with the words, "Stay here in the corridor, Charles; the sight of your agitated face would be enough to kill him at once." She entered in, and closed the door gently behind her.

How long, oh, how long appeared the interval! With what different feelings Charles now stood at the door of that room which he had once entered in such grief and resentment on the day of his return from Marshdale! He then hated the sounds which showed him where his brother was moving through the castle; now his ear was painfully strained to catch any accent of that brother's voice: he was then almost inclined to murmur at the loss of the broad lands which he had once possessed; now, had they been his, he would have given them all to have had Ernest by his side once more.

At length the door opened, and the two doctors came out, followed by Mrs. Hope. Charles looked the question which his voice could not utter his aunt laid her finger upon her lips.

They will consult together in another room," she whispered; "wait here, and I will bring you the result."

With a sickening heart Charles leaned back on the wall opposite the door of Ernest's apartment: he tried to pray, but his mind could scarcely form a prayer—the suspense seemed to paralyze all its energies. After the lapse of some minutes, he heard the rustle of his aunt's dress again: she came close to him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and in a low voice uttered but one sentence: "Charles, you will be Lord of Fontonore!"

COMING TO THE RIVER.

"Now I further saw, that between them and the gate was a river." Pilgrim's Progress

ELL, as you please, but I would not do so," said Mr. Hope, in conversation with Mr. Ewart in the saloon.

"The doctors gave no hope, and I think

that in such cases it is only right—it is only

kind to let the patient know his danger."

"Your ideas are different to mine: the shock of being told that you are dying is enough to put out the last spark of life.”

"Not to one who has the faith of Ernest.”

"You would then only hide the truth from a bad man?"

"I would hide it from none; I would act towards others as I should wish them to act towards me. It is cruel to conceal their state from the dying; to send them into the presence of their Maker unwarned, perhaps unprepared."

"Well, you must break the truth to Ernest yourself, I will not undertake to do it. You know his feelings better than I do, I never could understand them at all."

Bowed down with affliction, yet with sufficient selfcommand to be calm and composed in his manner, Mr. Ewart approached the bedside of Ernest.

"What do the doctors say of me?" asked Fontonore. "They say that the injuries which you have received are very severe."

“I thought so—I suffer so much pain. I daresay that it will be long before I quite recover. But you see," he added, with a faint smile, "good comes out of evil in this case. I took advantage of the privilege of illness, and the claim which your having saved me has given you, and asked my uncle a favour which he could not refuse me; nor will you, I am sure, dear Mr. Ewart: you will be tutor at Fontonore again!"

The clergyman pressed in silence the feverish hand held out to him; he could not at that moment reply.

"We shall be so happy, if I only get well! You do not know how we have missed you! You will—will you not?-be the pilgrim's guide again!"

"You have come to a part of your journey, my beloved pupil, in which God can alone be your guide." He felt that the deep eyes of Ernest were riveted upon him; he could not endure to meet their inquiring gaze. Shading his own with his hand, he continued: "When