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 scene of our story, and, using the license of all writers, transport the reader to Jackson, the Capital of the great State of Mississippi, and there introduce him or her to other characters who will bear a prominent part in this book.

In the parlor of an elegant resident on Main street, a beautiful girl was sitting with an open book in her hand.  She was not, however, reading, as her bright blue eyes rested not on the pages, but were gazing at the half-opened door, as if expecting the arrival of some one.  While she is thus musing, we will endeavour to give a description of the fair maiden.  Fancy a slight and elegant figure, richly dressed in a robe of moire antique, from under the folds of which the daintiest little feet imaginable could be seen.  Her features, though not regularly carved, made her, at the name time, very beautiful, while her bright blue eyes and rich golden hair, braided smooth to her forehead, and ornamented with a jewelled tiara, then much worn, lent additional charm to her appearance.  Her hands were small, and as Byron, we think, has it, was an undoubted mark of gentle birth.