That night the brothers spent in deep and earnest converse.  The certainty of his own prosperity, the self-gratulation that follows a just and careful discharge of duties imposed alike by reason and religion, had not raised Charles above his brother in his own esteem.  Pained beyond description at the suffering he had so unconsciously inflicted on his niece—­horror-struck at the fact, that thousands upon thousands had been lavished, yet nothing done for hereafter, the hereafter that must come, he urged upon John the danger of delay, the uncertainty of life.  Circumstances increased his influence.  Dr. Adams had been made painfully aware that gilding was not gold.  The beauty, position, and talents of his beloved child, although fully acknowledged, had failed to establish her in life.  “Look, Charles,” he said, after imparting all to his brother, absolutely weeping over the state of uncomplaining but deep sorrow to which his child was reduced, “if I could command the necessary sum, I would to-morrow insure my life for a sum that would place them beyond the possible reach of necessity of any kind.”

“Do not wait for that,” was the generous reply of Charles Adams; “I have some unemployed hundreds at this moment.  Come with me to-morrow; do not delay a day, no, nor an hour; and take my word for it you will have reason to bless your resolve.  Only imagine what would be the case if God called you to give an account of your stewardship.”  But he checked himself; he saw that more was not necessary; and the brothers separated for a few hours, both anxious for the morning.  It was impossible to say which of the two hurried over breakfast with the greatest rapidity.  The carriage was at the door; and Dr. Adams left word with his butler that he was gone into the city on urgent business, and would be back in two hours.

“I don’t think,” exclaimed Charles, rubbing his hands gleefully, “I don’t think, that if my dear niece were happy, I should ever have been so happy in all my life as I am at this moment.”

“I feel already,” replied John, “as if a great weight were removed from my heart; and were it not for the debt which I have contracted to you—­Ah, Charles, I little dreamt, when I looked down from the hill over Repton, and thought my store inexhaustible, that I should be obliged to you thus late in life.  And yet I protest I hardly know where I could have drawn in; one expense grows so out of another.  These boys have been so very extravagant; but I shall soon have the two eldest off; they cannot keep them much longer waiting.”

“Work is better than waiting; but let the lads fight their way; they have had, I suppose, a good education; they ought to have had professions.  There is something to me awfully lazy in your ‘appointments;’ a young man of spirit will appoint himself; but it is the females of a family, brought up, as yours have been, who are to be considered.  Women’s position in society is changed from what it was some