She ran over the meager dispatches made up of hearsay and speculation—­how the North had fallen into a rage with the Washington authorities; how Lincoln’s life wasn’t safe; how the Cabinet had all resigned; how the Democrats had arisen in Congress and in the State Legislatures and demanded negotiations with “President Davis”; how England was drawing up a treaty with the new Confederacy.  Then she turned to the local page.  She ran over a dozen paragraphs recounting the deeds of well-known Richmond heroes, but these made no impression upon the listener, until she read: 

“Major Vincent Atterbury, whose gallantry at the battle of the 21st Richmond is a subject of pride to his friends, was transferred to his country home, on the James, yesterday.  He is still very low, but the surgeons declare that home quiet and careful nursing will restore him to his duties in time for the autumn campaign—­if the Yankees do not surrender before that time.”

Jack’s eyes were so bright when Mrs. Raines looked at him, as she lowered the sheet, that she arose, exclaiming quickly: 

“There, I have brought the fever back!  Your eyes are glittering and your cheeks are flushed.  No, do not speak.”

She moved precipitately from the room, and Jack sank back with a groan.  His danger, if not his difficulties, might be overcome now.  He would write to Mrs. Atterbury, and through Vincent arrange for an exchange.  But a still deeper trouble had been on his mind.  Where were Barney and Nick, and, worse than all, young Dick Perley?  If any mishap had befallen that boy, he would shrink from returning to Acredale.  And his mother, what must her state of mind be?  How many days had passed since the battle?  He had no means of knowing.  Ah, yes!  The paper was there on the stand, where Mrs. Raines had thrown it.  He raised himself slowly and seized it.  Heavens!  Saturday, August 4th?  Two weeks since that fatal Sunday!  And his mother?  Oh, he must find means to write, to telegraph.  “Mrs. Raines,” he called, hoarsely, “Mrs. Raines!” She came running to his side in alarm.

“Oh, what has happened?  You are worse!”

“I am very comfortable; but, my kind friend, I must—­I must let my mother know that I am alive; she will think me dead.”

“That’s what I meant to ask you—­just as soon as you seemed able to talk.  I would have gladly sent her word and invited her to come here, but I didn’t know the name nor the address.  You didn’t have a stitch of clothes when you came except your underwear; the rest had been taken off, the men said, because they were soiled and bloody, and there wasn’t a clew of any sort to your identity, except that you were a lieutenant in a Virginia regiment.  I thought we should find out when the provost came, but they have sent to Manassas, and no answer has come back yet.”

“The men who brought me here deceived you, Mrs. Raines.  I do not belong to a Virginia regiment; I belong to a New York regiment, and I am a—­a—­Union soldier.”