No sooner had he gained the favor of Butler, than his attentions to Mrs. Wentworth changed to that of unmanly presumption, and at last he had the baseness to make proposals at once dishonorable to her as a lady of virtue and position in society, and disgraceful to him as a man.  These propositions were accompanied by a threat to have her turned out of the house and exiled from New Orleans.  With a spirit worthy of a Southern woman, she indignantly spurned his base offers and ordered him never to place his feet across the threshold of her house, at the same time defying to do his worse.  He left her, declaring that she should be turned out of the city, and a few days after, in proof of his threat, an order was presented to her, signed by General Butler, commanding her to leave the city.

Her faithful slave, Elsy, shed bitter tears on hearing that her kind mistress would have to leave New Orleans, and declared that she would not remain in the city, but would follow her.

“But they will not let you go with me, Elsy,” said Mrs. Wentworth.  “You are free now, they say, to do as you like—­you are no longer belonging to me.”

“I ain’t a gwine to stay here, missis,” replied the negro, “for any money in dis world, and if dey wont let me go out wid you, I will come arter you by myself.”

“Well, Elsy,” said Mrs. Wentworth, “I do not force you to leave New Orleans, but should you get out, come to me at Jackson.  You are a good girl, and I shall not forget your fidelity.”

“I’ll be dere, shure,” said the negro, quite pleased at the permission to follow her mistress if she could.

Mrs. Wentworth immediately set to work packing up a few necessaries, and with the small amount of money she had left awaited the next morning, when she would start for Pass Manchac.

On the following morning she proceeded to the boat, amid the cries and lamentations of the faithful Elsy, and with throbbing heart and many sighs gazed on her loved city until it had receded from her view.

On arriving at the “Pass” she was about to step from the boat, when a hand was laid upon her shoulder, and looking round she observed Mr. Awtry, dressed in the full uniform of a Yankee captain, standing by her.

“Are you determined to leave home,” he said, “and all its pleasures; and starve in the rebel lines?  Why not accept my offer and lead a life of ease and affluence.  Your husband shall never know of our connection, and thus you will be spared many a weary day and night working for bread to feed your children.”

She looked at him for a moment with all that withering scorn and indignation which outraged virtue and innocence can assume, and then said:  “Leave me!  Go to the land from whence you came and make such offers to the women there, but remember now you are speaking to a Southern woman.”

“But think a moment, and—­” he began.

“Leave me this instant,” she said excitedly, “or I shall call others with more the heart of men than you to my assistance.  Accept your offer?” she continued with all the scorn she could use.  “Accept such an offer from a Yankee!  Go, I would despise and hate were you not too despicable for either feeling of enmity.”