A beautiful room it was, all hung round with pictures. There was one which Charles especially valued, the portrait of his mother when she was a girl, with deep, thoughtful eyes, so much like Ernest’s that Charles wondered that he had not recognized the resemblance the first moment that he had seen his brother. This picture had often exercised a soothing effect over the boy; the thought of his gentle mother now in heaven drew his own affections thither; the hope of meeting her there was so sweet, the desire of being worthy of her so strong—for his mind had invested her with all the qualities of an angel—and the parent who had died before he could know his loss, was the object of the deepest tenderness of the boy.
“She, at least, is not changed—she looks always the same!” exclaimed Charles, clasping his hands, and gazing upon the portrait till his eyes became dimmed with tears. He was disturbed by a low knock at the door.
“Come in!” exclaimed Charles in an impatient tone, hastily dashing the moisture from his eyes. It was the housekeeper who appeared at the door.
“Please, my lord, Master Charles, I am sorry to disturb you, but this room Mrs. Hope desired to be prepared for Lord Fontonore; the blue room has been made ready for you.”
Charles rushed out of the apartment without saying a word, in a passion of anger and resentment. The trial which he had seen but from a distance was now most keenly and bitterly felt. He locked his door, and paced backwards and forwards across the room, wishing that he could shut out all sound of voices and tread of feet, as he traced by it the progress of the party through the castle, which his relations were now showing to its new possessor. And thus he remained in his solitary misery, while Ernest painfully missed from his side one who was more to his affectionate heart than all the wealth of the world, and with an uncomfortable consciousness of his every motion being watched by those who regarded him rather with curiosity than interest, passed through long corridors, and stately apartments, which were expected to strike him with wonder.
“He is not so vulgar or funny as I expected that he would be,” whispered Clementina to some one beside her; “but it makes me laugh to see him look so shy and uneasy, as if he were half afraid to look at his own castle. He certainly has a very interesting air, but he is not half so handsome as Charles.”
CHAPTER XIV.
VEXATIONS OF VANITY FAIR.
