“I wish to see no one!” exclaimed Charles, as again a knock was heard at his door.
“Will you not admit me?” said the voice of Mr. Ewart. In an instant the door was thrown open.
“I did not know that it was you, sir; but I might have guessed who was the only being likely to come near me.”
Mr. Ewart saw in a moment by the face of his pupil, as well as by the tone in which he spoke, that he was struggling—no, not struggling with, but rather overcome by his passions; and more grieved than displeased by the conduct of the boy, he led him quietly to a sofa, on which they both sat down together.
“I am sorry,” said Mr. Ewart, “that you left us so soon; your brother may be hurt by your absence.”
“Oh, he’ll never miss me; he has plenty to take up his attention. Aunt Matilda will never let him out of her sight. Miss Clemmy will deck herself out even finer than usual to do honour to the lord of the castle. And of course he’ll be taken by all the flattery and fuss; he’ll believe all the nonsense of that worldly set; he’ll be everything now, and I shall be nothing, because he happened to be born a year before me. It’s very hard,” he added bitterly; “it’s very hard.”
“‘It’s very hard’ is one of the Evil One’s favourite suggestions,” said Mr. Ewart; “its meaning was contained in the very first words which he ever uttered to a human ear. He would have persuaded Eve that it was very hard that she might not eat of every fruit in the garden; and now, surrounded as we are with manifold blessings, it is his delight to point to the one thing denied, and still whisper, ‘It’s very hard to be kept from that which you so much desire.’”
“I cannot help feeling,” murmured Charles; “things are so different now from what they were.”
“Did you ever expect them to remain the same? Did you suppose that your path would be always amongst flowers? Are you not forgetting that you are a stranger and a pilgrim—the follower of a Master who was a man of sorrows?”
Charles sighed heavily, and looked down.