He was vexed and irritated no more, but he went to his bed, a far more cleanly and luxurious couch than that which he had been accustomed to in the crowded casemate at Triggertown, with a sad and sorrowful heart. There are no woes so acute as those of early youth. Happily they are as transient as they are intense. Herbert at night was in the depths of woe; next morning he was already in a fair way to recover his spirits, and before the day was out, in the excitement of the new life opening before him, he had forgotten his sorrows and was as happy as a bird. He was just the boy to get on at school. Brisk and buoyant in disposition, with a well-knit vigorous frame, a predilection for games of every kind in which, with a little experience, he soon excelled, he rapidly advanced in the estimation of his fellows. He was liberal and free-handed too, which did not make him the less appreciated, and he had plenty to give away. ‘His people,’ as boys call their friends, were evidently of the right sort. The old lady with the snow-white hair and large mournful eyes, who came to see him regularly every month, was right royal in her tips, and not to him alone, but to any whom he called particular friends. He got tuck baskets continually and presents of all kinds to which others administered as freely as himself. These are substantial grounds for school popularity, and Herbert enjoyed it in the highest degree. As he grew in years and developed in strength and good looks, Lady Farrington’s affectionate admiration knew no bounds. She lavished caresses on him without ceasing, declaring that he was daily becoming more and more fitted for the station which would some day be his. ‘Yes, yes, the end cannot be far off now,’ she said one day as she sat in the headmaster’s drawing-room, holding Herbert’s hand in hers and patting it from time to time in the fulness of her contentment. ‘Who shall gainsay your claim when they see you thus, my Herbert’s living image? my son! My son, my lost unhappy son!’ and in a moment she was in a paroxysm of tears. Herbert was quite accustomed to her now. At first he had been dismayed by her sudden outbursts. The rapid transition from joy to sorrow, from smiles to hysterical tears, were sufficient to frighten him, and when to these were added her wild talk, her bitter self-reproaches, her mysterious hints of his coming greatness, he scarcely knew what to do or say. But by degrees he became familiar with her eccentricities, and he felt that although she might be queer, she was certainly uncommonly kind. ‘I cannot control myself when I think of the miserable past. But, please God, in you I shall make some atonement for my sins, and soon, soon,--for the time draws nigh. You are equal, Herbert, I trust, to a great and arduous trial?’ He was now nearly seventeen, tall and well-built for his age; and as he shook his light curls and looked steadily at her with his clear, honest eyes, he seemed the incarnation of youth and hope.