“So much!” exclaimed Ernest in surprise; “and Lord Fontonore—I mean my brother?”
“What he may receive will depend upon his uncle. Poor Charles! he has nothing of his own.”
“Half of mine at least shall be his. Let him have it without knowing from whom it comes.”
Mr. Ewart smiled, and pressed the boy’s hand.
“And those unhappy children with whom I have been brought up, now separated from their parents, and helpless and friendless—tell me, sir, what can I do for them?”
“There are some excellent charities in London, where such are received, brought up to an honest trade, and instructed in the principles of religion. But there is considerable expense in keeping children at such asylums, unless they have been admitted by votes, which in the present case would be very difficult to procure.”
“Would the remaining half of my allowance be enough?”
“You would leave yourself nothing, my dear boy. I honour your motives and feelings, but generosity must be tempered by prudence. The little girl you might place at an asylum.”
“And the boys?”