Ernest sank back on his pillow exhausted. A change came over his features; there was breathless silence in the room.
“He is going!” murmured Mr. Ewart, clasping his hands.
Ernest unclosed his eyes, fixed a long last look of inexpressible love on his brother; then, turning it towards the clergyman, faintly uttered the single word “Pray!”
At once all sank on their knees, every distinction forgotten in that solemn hour. The heir of a peerage—the vain child of fashion, bent side by side with the convict’s son! Mr. Ewart’s voice was raised in prayer: he commended the parting spirit to his Saviour, while Fontonore’s upward gaze, and the motion of his silent lips, showed that he heard and joined in the prayer. Presently that motion ceased—the light faded from that eye, the silver cord was gently unloosed; but the smile which still lingered on the features of the dead seemed an earnest of the bliss of the freed, rejoicing spirit, safely landed on the shores of Eternity.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CONCLUSION.
It may not, perhaps, be uninteresting to the reader to trace a little of the future career of those whom Ernest left behind him in the world.
Charles, of course, inherited the title and estate of his brother, and, increasing in piety and virtue as he increased in years, became an ornament to the high station in which he was placed, and a blessing to the people amongst whom he dwelt. He carried out all Ernest’s projects of charity with zeal; and when, on attaining the age of twenty-one, the management of his own estate came into his hands, he erected the church upon his grounds which he had designed so long before, and often listened within its walls to the words of truth from the lips of his early preceptor.