The Trials of the Soldiers Wife | Page 6

and
anxiety, and next morning rose from her bed with the same feeling of
anxiety to know whether her husband had escaped unhurt. At about ten
o'clock in the morning, a knock was heard at the door, and soon after
Mr. Awtry entered.
"How are you this morning, Mrs. Wentworth?" he said, taking her little
daughter in his arms and kissing her; "so we have gained a great victory
in Virginia."
"Yes," she replied; "but I do feel so anxious to know if my husband is
safe."

"Do not think for a moment otherwise," he answered; "why a soldier's
wife should not show half as much solicitude as you do."
"I am, indeed, very desirous of knowing his fate and I am sure the fact
of being a soldier's wife does not prevent my feeling a desire to
ascertain if he is unhurt, or if he is"--she paused at the thought which
seemed so horrid in her imagination, and lowering her face in her hands,
burst into tears.
"Mother, what are you crying for?" asked her little daughter, who was
sitting on Mr. Awtry's knees.
"My dear madam," said Mr. Awtry, "why do you give way to tears? If
you desire," he continued, "I will telegraph to Virginia and learn if your
husband is safe."
"Thank you--thank you!" she answered eagerly; "I shall feel deeply
obligated if you will."
"I shall go down to the telegraph office at once," he said, rising from
his seat and placing the child down; "and now, my little darling," he
continued, speaking to the child, "you must tell your ma not to cry so
much." With these words he shook Mrs. Wentworth's hand and left the
house.
The day passed wearily for Mrs. Wentworth; every hour she would
open one of the windows leading to the street and look out, as if
expecting to see Mr. Awtry with a telegraphic dispatch in his hand, and
each disappointment she met with on these visits would only add to her
intense anxiety. The shades of evening had overshadowed the earth,
and Mrs. Wentworth sat at the window of her dwelling waiting the
arrival of the news, which would either remove her fears or plunge her
in sorrow. Long hours passed, and she had almost despaired of Mr.
Awtry's coming that evening, when he walked up the street, and in a
few minutes was in the house.
"What news?" gasped Mrs. Wentworth, starting from her seat and
meeting him at the door of the apartment.

"Read it, my dear madam. I shall leave that pleasure to you," he replied,
handing her a telegraphic dispatch he held in his hand.
Taking the dispatch, Mrs. Wentworth, with trembling fingers, unfolded
it and read these words: "Mrs. Eva Wentworth, New Orleans, Louisiana:
Yours received. I am safe. Alfred Wentworth." As soon as she had read
the dispatch, her pent up anxiety for his safety was allayed, and
throwing herself on her knees before a couch, regardless of the
presence of Mr. Awtry, who stood looking on, Mrs. Wentworth poured
forth a prayer of thanks at the safety of her husband, while tears of joy
trickled down her cheeks.
"Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Wentworth, on the safety of your
husband," said Horace Awtry, after she had become sufficiently
composed. "I assure you," he continued, "I feel happy at the knowledge
of being the medium through which this welcome intelligence has
reached you."
"You have, indeed, proved a friend," she said, extending her hand,
which he shook warmly, "and one that I feel I can trust."
"Do not speak of it," he answered; "it is only a natural act of kindness
towards one whom I desire to befriend."
"And one I will never cease to forget. Oh! if you had but known how I
felt during these past hours of agonizing suspense, you would not have
thought lightly of your kind attention; and I am sure when I write
Alfred of it, he will not have words sufficient to express his gratitude."
"In my haste to impart the good news to you," said Mr. Awtry, rising,
"I almost forgot an engagement I made this evening. It is now getting
late, and I must leave. Good evening."
"Good evening," she replied. "I trust you will call to see me soon
again."
"With your permission I will," he answered, laying particular emphasis
on the word "your."

"Certainly," she said. "I shall be most happy to see you at anytime."
"I will call soon, then," he replied. "Good night," and he stepped from
the threshold of the house.
"Good night," she said, closing the door.
Horace Awtry stood for a moment near the house; then walking on he
muttered: "A politic stroke, that telegraphic dispatch."
CHAPTER FIFTH.
JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI--A HAPPY HOME.
We will now change the