“How often have you repeated the lines—
‘The greatest evil we can fear,
Is to possess our portion here!’
Had you the power of choice, would you enjoy that portion in this life, were it even to bestow on you the crown of an emperor?”
“No,” replied Charles, with emphasis.
“Let me refer you to your favourite Pilgrim’s Progress. Remember what Christian beheld in the house of the Interpreter—that which we constantly behold in daily life: Passion demanding his treasure at once; Patience waiting meekly for a treasure to come. Which was the richest in the end?”
“You must not imagine that it was the sight of the dear old castle, and all that I have lost, that has made me feel in this way,” exclaimed Charles. “You saw how cheerful I was not an hour ago, and I knew then that I was no longer Lord Fontonore.”
“Yes; you had seen your cross, but you had not taken it up; you had not felt its weight. It is now that you must rouse up your courage.”
“What I feel,” exclaimed Charles impetuously, “is contempt for the mean, heartless beings, who were all kindness to me when I bore a title, and now have turned round like weathercocks! I do not believe that even you can defend them.”
“I think that you may judge them hardly. You have too easily taken offence; you have made no allowance for their natural curiosity to see the hero of so romantic a tale as Ernest’s. Would not you yourself have felt eager to meet him?”