As Hugh stood beside her, handing stockings and handkerchiefs, to fill
up the corners of the box, she spoke as she might not have done if they
had not been alone. She said but a few words; but Hugh never forgot
them.

"You know, my dear," said she, "that I do not approve of dwelling upon
troubles. You know I never encourage my children to fret about what
cannot be helped."

There was nothing in the world that Hugh was more certain of than this.

"And yet I tell you," she continued, "that you will not be nearly so
happy at Crofton as you expect--at least, at first. It grieves me to
see you so full of expectation--"

"Does it indeed, mother?"

"It does indeed. But my comfort is--"

"You think I can bear it," cried Hugh, holding up his head. "You think
I can bear anything."

"I think you are a brave boy, on the whole. But that is not the comfort
I was speaking of; for there is a world of troubles too heavy for the
bravery of a thoughtless child, like you. My comfort is, my dear, that
you know where to go for strength when your heart fails you. You will
be away from your father and me; but a far wiser and kinder parent will
be always with you. If I were not sure that you would continually open
your heart to Him, I could not let you go from me."

"I will--I always do," said Hugh, in a low voice. "Then remember this,
my boy. If you have that help, _you must not fail_. Knowing that you
have that help, I expect of you that you do your own duty, and bear your
own troubles, like a man. If you were to be all alone in the new world
you are going to, you would be but a helpless child: but remember, when
a child makes God his friend, God puts into the youngest and weakest the
spirit of a man."

"You will ask Him too, mother;--you will pray Him to make me brave,
and--and--"

"And what else?" she inquired, fixing her eyes upon him.

"And steady," replied Hugh, casting down his eyes; "for that is what I
want most of all."

"It is," replied his mother. "I do, and always will, pray for you."

Not another word was said till they went down into the parlour. Though
it was only eleven o'clock, Miss Harold was putting on her bonnet to go
away: and there was a plate of bread and cheese on the table.

"Lunch!" said Hugh, turning away with disgust. "Do eat it," said Agnes,
who had brought it. "You had no breakfast, you know."

"Because I did not want it; and I can't eat anything now."

Jane made a sign to A