I went at once to my eldest brother and showed him my son's
letter, and told him all that I have written here. His kind heart
was touched as mine had been. He felt for my suspense; he shared
my anxiety; he laid aside his own occupation on the spot.

"Only tell me," he said, "how I can help, and I will give every h
our in the day to you and to George."

I had come to him with my mind almost as full of his past life as
of my own; I recalled to his memory events in his experience as a
working clergyman in London; I set him looking among papers which
he had preserved for half his lifetime, and the very existence of
which he had forgotten long since; I recalled to him the names of
persons to whose necessities he had ministered in his sacred
office, and whose stories he had heard from their own lips or
received under their own handwriting. When we parted he was
certain of what he was wanted to do, and was resolute on that
very day to begin the work.

I went to Morgan next, and appealed to him as I had already
appealed to Owen. It was only part of his odd character to start
all sorts of eccentric objections in reply; to affect a cynical
indifference, which he was far from really and truly feeling; and
to indulge in plenty of quaint sarcasm on the subject of Jessie
and his nephew George. I waited till these little
surface-ebullitions had all expended themselves, and then pressed
my point again with the earnestness and anxiety that I really
felt.