When the letter was finished and closed, Hugh felt a good deal relieved: but still not happy. He had opened his heart to the best friend he had in this world: but he still felt grievously humbled for the present, and alarmed for the future. Then he remembered that he might seek comfort from a better Friend still; and that He who had sent him his trial could and would help him to bear it with honour as well as with patience. As he thought of this, he saw that the boys were trooping home, along the road, and he slipped out, and into the orchard, where he knew he might be alone with his best Friend. He stayed there till the supper-bell rang; and when he came in, it was with a cheerful face. He was as merry as anybody at supper: and afterwards he found his lessons more easy to him than usual. The truth was that his mind was roused by the conflicts of the day. He said his lessons to Phil (who found time to-night to hear him), without missing a word. When he went to bed, he had several pleasant thoughts. His secret was still his own (though by no merit of his); to-morrow was Sunday,--likely to be a bright, sweet May Sunday,-- his lessons were quite ready for Monday; and possibly there might be a letter from his mother in the course of the week. Mrs Proctor was in the midst of her Monday morning's business (and Monday morning was the busiest of the week), when she received Hugh's letter. Yet she found time to answer it by the very next post. When her letter was handed to Hugh, with the seal unbroken, because `private' was written large on the outside, we thought she was the kindest mother that ever was, to have written so soon, and to have minded all his wishes. Her letter was,-- "Dear Hugh,