The Trials of the Soldier's Wife

  CHAPTER FOURTH.

  A POLITIC STROKE--THE TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCH.

  June and half of July had sped swiftly away. The great battle, whicheverybody daily expected, had been fought, and the Yankee armyignominiously defeated. As every one of our readers are wellacquainted with this battle, I shall not go into any details; enough;as history will tell, to know that it resulted in a glorious victoryto the Confederate army, and covered the gallant Southerners withhonor.

  On the arrival of dispatches giving an account of this victory, to usea vulgar phrase, New Orleans "ran wild." The excitement and exultationof the people were beyond description, and during the same night thatthe news was received, one scene of gayety was observed in the city.There was one heart, however, that did not share the joy and merrimentso universal among the people. In the privacy of her dwelling, withher two children near by, Mrs. Wentworth spent a night of prayer andanxiety, and next morning rose from her bed with the same feeling ofanxiety to know whether her husband had escaped unhurt. At about teno'clock in the morning, a knock was heard at the door, and soon afterMr. Awtry entered.

  "How are you this morning, Mrs. Wentworth?" he said, taking her littledaughter in his arms and kissing her; "so we have gained a greatvictory in Virginia."

  "Yes," she replied; "but I do feel so anxious to know if my husband issafe."

  "Do not think for a moment otherwise," he answered; "why a soldier'swife should not show half as much solicitude as you do."

  "I am, indeed, very desirous of knowing his fate and I am sure thefact of being a soldier's wife does not prevent my feeling a desire toascertain if he is unhurt, or if he is"--she paused at the thoughtwhich seemed so horrid in her imagination, and lowering her face inher hands, burst into tears.

  "Mother, what are you crying for?" asked her little daughter, who wassitting on Mr. Awtry's knees.

  "My dear madam," said Mr. Awtry, "why do you give way to tears? If youdesire," he continued, "I will telegraph to Virginia and learn if yourhusband is safe."

  "Thank you--thank you!" she answered eagerly; "I shall feel deeplyobligated if you will."

  "I shall go down to the telegraph office at once," he said, risingfrom his seat and placing the child down; "and now, my littledarling," he continued, speaking to the child, "you must tell your manot to cry so much." With these words he shook Mrs. Wentworth's handand left the house.

  The day passed wearily for Mrs. Wentworth; every hour she would openone of the windows leading to the street and look out, as if expectingto see Mr. Awtry with a telegraphic dispatch in his hand, and eachdisappointment she met with on these visits would only add to herintense anxiety. The shades of evening had overshadowed the earth, andMrs. Wentworth sat at the window of her dwelling waiting the arrivalof the news, which would either remove her fears or plunge her insorrow. Long hours passed, and she had almost despaired of Mr. Awtry'scoming that evening, when he walked up the street, and in a fewminutes was in the house.

  "What news?" gasped Mrs. Wentworth, starting from her seat and meetinghim at the door of the apartment.

  "Read it, my dear madam. I shall leave that pleasure to you," hereplied, handing her a telegraphic dispatch he held in his hand.

  Taking the dispatch, Mrs. Wentworth, with trembling fingers, unfoldedit and read these words: "Mrs. Eva Wentworth, New Orleans, Louisiana:Yours received. I am safe. Alfred Wentworth." As soon as she had readthe dispatch, her pent up anxiety for his safety was allayed, andthrowing herself on her knees before a couch, regardless of thepresence of Mr. Awtry, who stood looking on, Mrs. Wentworth pouredforth a prayer of thanks at the safety of her husband, while tears ofjoy trickled down her cheeks.

  "Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Wentworth, on the safety of yourhusband," said Horace Awtry, after she had become sufficientlycomposed. "I assure you," he continued, "I feel happy at the knowledgeof being the medium through which this welcome intelligence hasreached 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 ofkindness towards one whom I desire to befriend."

  "And one I will never cease to forget. Oh! if you had but known how Ifelt during these past hours of agonizing suspense, you would not havethought lightly of your kind attention; and I am sure when I writeAlfred of it, he will not have words sufficient to express hisgratitude."

  "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 gettinglate, and I must leave. Good evening."

  "Good evening," she replied. "I trust you will call to see me soonagain."

  "With _your_ permission I will," he answered, laying particularemphasis 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 steppedfrom the threshold of the house.

  "Good night," she said, closing the door.

  Horace Awtry stood for a moment near the house; then walking on hemuttered: "A politic stroke, that telegraphic dispatch."