There she stood the picture of grief, awaiting the words that would either give her hope or plunge her forever into the fathomless depths of despair.  The eyes of the soldier’s wife were turned on Mr. Elder with a sad and supplicating look.  In any other but the cold, calculating creature before her, their look might have moved to pity, but with him nothing availed; not even a struggle for mastery between humanity and brutality could be seen, and as she gazed upon him she felt that there was no chance of her wishes being gratified.

Her little son clung to her dress half frightened at the attitude of his mother, and the stern and unforbidding aspect of Mr. Elder.  Ella strove to rise while her mother was speaking, but fell back on her bed unable to perform the effort.  She was, therefore, content to be there and listen to the conversation as it occurred between Mr. Elder and her mother.  Her little heart was also tortured, for this had been the first time she had ever heard such passionate and earnest language as was depicted in Mrs. Wentworth’s words.

At last Mr. Elder spoke, and his words were eagerly listened to by Mrs. Wentworth.

“This annoys me very much,” he said.  “Your importunities are very disagreeable to me, and I must insist that they shall cease.  As I told you before, I cannot afford to lose tenants in an unnecessary act of liberality, and through mistaken charity.  The fact is,” he continued in a firm and decisive tone, “you must leave this room to-night.  I will not listen to any more of your pleading.  Your case is but the repetition of many others who fled from their homes and left all they had, under the impression that the people of other States would be compelled to support them.  This is a mistaken idea, and the sooner its error is made known the better it will be for the people of the South, whose homes are in the hands of the enemy.”

“Then you are determined that my children and myself shall be turned from the shelter of this room to-night,” she enquired, dropping her hands by her side, and assuming a standing attitude.

“You have heard what I have already said, my good woman,” he replied.  “And let me repeat, that I will listen to no further supplications.”

“I shall supplicate to you no more,” she answered.  “I see, alas! too well, that I might sooner expect pity from the hands of an uncivilized Indian than charity or aid from you.  Nor will I give you any trouble to forcibly eject me.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” he rejoined.

“Yes,” she continued, without noticing his words, “I shall leave of my own accord, and there,” she said, pointing to Ella, “lies my sick child.  Should exposure on this night cause her death, I shall let you know of it that you may have some subject, accruing from your heartless conduct, on which to ponder.”

Slowly she removed all the articles that were in the room, and placed them on the sidewalk.  There were but few things in the room, and her task was soon completed.