“You are right,” Alfred replied, “but it is singular that some person who knew her did not see it and inform her; she surely must have made some acquaintances since she arrived in our lines, and I am certain that there are none who do not sympathize with the unfortunate refugees who have been driven into exile by our fiendish enemy.”

“I am sorry to say that refugees are not as favorably thought of as they deserve,” Emma remarked.  “To the shame of the citizens of our Confederacy, instead of receiving them as sufferers in a common cause, they are looked upon as intruders.  There are some exceptions, as in all cases, but I fear they are very few.”

“Your statement will only increase my anxiety to find my wife,” answered Alfred; “for if the people act as unpatriotically as you represent, there is no telling if my unfortunate family are not reduced to dire necessity, although it is with surprise that I hear your remarks on the conduct of our people.  I had thought that they would lose no opportunity to manifest their sympathy with those who are now exiles from their homes, and that idea had made me feel satisfied in my mind that my wife and children would, at least, be able to find shelter.”

“I do not think anyone would refuse to aid your family, my dear friend,” Harry observed, “although I agree with Miss Emma, that our people do not pay as much attention to refugees as they should; but the unfortunate exile will always find a sympathizing heart among our people.  You may rest assured that, wherever your wife may be, she has a home which, if not as comfortable as the one she was driven from, is at least home enough to keep herself and her children from want.”

Harry Shackleford judged others by the promptings of his own heart, and as he uttered these words of comfort to his friend, he little dreamed that Mrs. Wentworth was then the inmate of a prison, awaiting her trial for robbery, and that the crime had her committed through the very necessity he had so confidently asserted could never exist in the country.

“Will you take a walk to the hotel,” enquired Alfred, after a few minutes of silence, “I desire to settle my bill with the clerk.”

“Certainly,” he replied, rising from his chair, “I desire to conduct you to my home.”

“Good evening to you Miss Humphries,” said Alfred, as he walked to the door with his friend.

She extended her hand to him as she replied, “Good evening, sir—­allow me to repeat my wishes for your success in finding your wife and children.”

Bowing to her in reply, he left the room, accompanied by Harry.

“Do you know, Harry,” he observed, as they walked towards the Bowman House, “I have a strange presentiment that all is not well with my family.”

“Pshaw,” replied his friend, “you are as superstitious as any old woman of eighty.  Why in the name of wonder will you continue to look upon the dark side of the picture?  It is more likely that your family are now comfortably, if not happily situated.  Depend upon it, my dear friend, the world is not so cold and uncharitable as to refuse a shelter, or a meal to the unfortunate.”