“Oh, certainly,” was the hasty reply.  “It’ll be all right’ now.”

“What do you mean?  Has it not been all right?”

“Well, you see,” said Mr. Jackson, apologetically, “we have been very lenient to your wife, but the rent has not been paid for over two months, and—­”

“And you were about to turn her and her children out-of-doors in midwinter,” broke in the soldier, wrathfully.  “That is the way you sleek, comfortable stay-at-home people care for those fighting your battles.  After you concluded that I was dead, and that the rent might not be forthcoming, you decided to put my wife into the street.  Open your office, sir, and you shall have your rent.”

“Now, Mr. Marlow, there’s no cause for pitching into me in this way.  You know that I am but an agent, and—­”

“Tell your rich employer, then, what I have said, and ask him what he would be worth to-day were there not men like myself, who are willing to risk everything and suffer everything for the Union.  But I’ve no time to bandy words.  Have you seen my wife lately?”

“Yes,” was the hesitating reply; “she was here to-day, and I—­”

“How is she?  What did you say to her?”

“Well, she doesn’t look very strong.  I felt sorry for her, and gave her more time, taking the responsibility myself—­”

“How much time?”

“I said two weeks, but no doubt I could have had the time extended.”

“I have my doubts.  Will you and your employer please accept my humble gratitude that you had the grace not to turn her out-of-doors during the holiday season?  It might have caused remark; but that consideration and some others that I might name are not to be weighed against a few dollars and cents.  I shall now remove the strain upon your patriotism at once, and will not only pay arrears, but also for two months in advance.”

“Oh, there’s no need of that to-day.”

“Yes, there is.  My wife shall feel to-night that she has a home.  She evidently has not received the letter I wrote as soon as I reached our lines, or you would not have been talking to her about two weeks more of shelter.”

The agent reopened his office and saw a roll of bills extracted from Marlow’s pocket that left no doubt of the soldier’s ability to provide for his family.  He gave his receipt in silence, feeling that words would not mend matters, and then trudged off to his dinner with a nagging appetite.

As Marlow strode away he came to a sudden resolution—­he would look upon his wife and children before they saw him; he would feast his eyes while they were unconscious of the love that was beaming upon them.  The darkness and storm favored his project, and in brief time he saw the light in his window.  Unlatching the gate softly, and with his steps muffled by the snow that already carpeted the frozen ground, he reached the window, the blinds of which were but partially closed.  His children frolicking about the room were the first objects that caught his eye, and he almost laughed aloud in his joy.  Then, by turning another blind slightly, he saw his wife shivering over the fire.