have given me my breakfast. I am very late now, and shall barely have
time to get through with it and be there before the gates close."

"Your porridge is quite ready for you, Ralph; so if you are late it
will be your own fault not mine. The eggs will be in before you have
eaten it. However, I won't open the letter until you have gone,
because you will only waste time by asking questions about it."

Ralph began his bread and milk, and Mrs. Conway, stretching out her
hand, took the letter he had laid beside his plate, and turning it
over glanced at the direction to ascertain from which of her few
correspondents it came. For a moment she looked puzzled, then, with a
little start, she laid it down by the side of her plate. She had
recognized the handwriting once so familiar to her.

"What is it, mother? You look quite startled. Who is it from?"

"It is from no one you know, Ralph. I think it is from a person I have
not heard from for some years. At any rate it will keep until you are
off to school."

"It's nothing unpleasant, I hope, mother. Your color has quite gone,
and you look downright pale."

"What should be the matter, you silly boy?" Mrs. Conway said, with an
attempt to smile. "What could there be unpleasant in a letter from a
person I have not heard from for years? There, go on with your
breakfast. I expect you will hear some news when you get down into the
town, for the guns in the castle have been firing, and I suppose there
is news of a victory. They said yesterday that a great battle was