I commence this letter, as I did one written and addressed to you two days ago, with the probability, that circumstances may yet render the seal of secrecy, now placed upon it, unnecessary; at least I shall detain both this one and that, for a time, if not finally destroy them. But I have a feeling that you will yet read what I write. If the incidents and scenes recorded, in the preceding letter, were of an extraordinary kind, you must be prepared to read in this, of events still more strange, and painfully interesting. It is with an effort that I calm my pulse, and subdue my emotions sufficiently, to narrate equably what I desire to make known to you. The morning after my interview with the queen, I arose early from a sleepless couch; for the events of the preceding evening, recalled by an excited mind, kept me awake with reflections of the most anxious and distressing nature. I mourned for Remeses, my noble, wise, and great friend and counsellor,--a prince by nature, and by the seal of all the gods, if not by inheritance from the Pharaohs. Not regarding the Hebrew race with the disdainful eye of those who have been masters over them, like the Egyptians, but looking upon them only as an unfortunate nation, descendants of the three patriarchal princes of Palestine, I, dear mother, felt no contempt for Remeses on account of his lineage and blood: To me, he was still as dear and as much honored. It was not the "prince" I loved from the first, but the "_man_" and he remains. I tossed my head on my pillow, grieving for him; as I knew, should the tidings ever come to his ears, and be confirmed as a truth, that it would break his great heart--crush his mighty soul to the earth; for, educated as an Egyptian prince, he entertains towards the Hebrews, the haughty contempt (so far as this sentiment can repose in such a benevolent bosom), which characterizes the Egyptian nation. How will he be humbled, overwhelmed, confounded, dismayed!