“Nobody in the world, sir, except my boy, and I have never had a letter from him, as I told you.” “Well, a letter has come for you. I did not give it at first, for fear it might startle you. I think it must be from your son.” “Oh, give it to me, sir, please!—now, this moment!” The curate handed the letter. The woman seized it, held it under the light of the lamp and devoured the superscription with ravenous eyes. “Oh, yes! It is his writing! It is his own! Oh, thank the Lord! Oh, thank the Lord!” she cried, falling on her knees and sinking her head in the cushion of the chair. But she soon arose and drew her spectacles from her pocket and opened the letter and tried to read it; but the words ran together in dark lines before her disturbed vision, and she could not decipher them. “Oh, sir, be so kind! Read it for me! Please do!” “With pleasure,” said Mr. Campbell. And he took the letter, and omitting date, read as follows: “‘MY BELOVED MOTHER——’” “The darling boy!” ejaculated Elspeth in rapture. “‘I have crossed the sea and come back to England——’” “He is in England! In England! Oh, thank Heaven! Thank Heaven! Go on, sir! Please go on!” impatiently exclaimed Elspeth. The curate smiled at her impetuosity and continued: “‘To see your dear face again, and to beg your forgiveness, which I know you will grant me, though I know I do not deserve it——’” “Ah, hear the noble fellow! Taking all the blame on himself, though I was more in fault nor him! But go on, sir! Pray go on!” “‘I long to be with you, to stay with you all the rest of our lives; to work for you, and to try to make you happy and comfortable, and so atone for all the trouble I have caused you——’” “Oh! the grand son! the noble boy! He will stay with me all the rest of my life! Oh, that will be joyful!” exclaimed Elspeth, clapping her hands and breaking into a camp meeting revival hymn, very appropriate, it is true: “‘Oh! that will be joyful! Joyful! Joyful! Joyful! Oh! that will be joyful, To meet and part no more!’ “It will be like heaven, sir! like heaven! to have my boy with me all the rest of my life! But do go on, sir! Forgive a poor mother’s impatience, and read me what else he says!” she cried, ready to turn from rapture to tears. “There is not much more,” said Mr. Campbell. “Only this: “‘Please, dearest mother, if you can pardon me, let me know when I can come to see you. And believe me your sincerely penitent and evermore loving and dutiful son, “‘SAM.’”