“Here,” whispered Harry to the sentinel, as he handed him the watch and money.

The man raised the little lantern near him, and looked at the bribe to see that it was all right.  “Pass on,” he said.

As Harry and his friend passed the gate, the former perceived several forms flit across the darkness, and a suspicion of treachery instantly flashed through his mind.

“We are betrayed,” he whispered to Alfred.

“No matter, let us push boldly forward,” was the reply.

They had not moved ten paces before the command “Halt” given.

“Push on!” exclaimed Alfred, darting forward.

The two friends moved on at a rapid run, when a volley of musketry was fired at them.  Harry escaped unhurt and continued running at the top of his speed, and not until he had gone a considerable distance, did he discover that his friend was not with him.  It was, however, too late for him to turn back, and entering Chicago, he made his way through the city, and continued his journey.

At the fire of the Federals, Alfred received four wounds; and sunk without a word to the ground.  The enemy shortly after coming up found him insensible, and conveyed his inanimate body to the hospital.  He was dangerously wounded, and the physicians declared there was but little hope of his recovery.

Two weeks after this unfortunate occurrence, a cartel for the exchange of prisoners was agreed upon between the Federal and Confederate authorities, and the prisoners at Camp Douglas were transported to Vicksburg.  The doctors declared that Alfred was not in a state to be removed, and was left at the hospital.  His condition at that time was very precarious.  One of the balls that had entered his body could not be found, and the wound was kept open with the view to discovering where it had lodged.  His agony of mind at the failure of his attempt to escape had retarded his recovery in a great degree, and when the information came that the prisoners were about to be exchanged, and he was declared unable to be removed, it added further to his detriment.  A fever seized him, and for many days he remained on his bed, hovering between life and death.

CHAPTER TWELFTH.

THE STARVING CHILDREN.

Long weeks rolled on, and the small sum possessed by Mrs. Wentworth, had been entirely exhausted.  She had, however, by sewing, contrived to supply herself and children with food.  It was the same old tale of sleepless nights of toil.  Often the grey streak which heralds the morning, would find her still pouring over her work, while her two children were sleeping on the bed in one corner of the room.  At times she would cease her work, and think for long hours on the loved husband, now a prisoner in the hands of the Federals.  In those hours, tears would course her cheeks, as the stern reality of her position presented itself; to know that he was absent, while she was leading a life of penury and toil.  Still she struggled on.  When at times despair rose up before her like a demon, and she felt herself about to succumb to it, the memory of her absent husband, and the sight of her loved children, would nerve the soldier’s wife to bear with fortitude the misery to which she had been reduced.