The poor mother brooded upon her trouble for another hour, and with every new moment, the trouble seemed more real.

The clock struck twelve before John returned; and more than once during his absence, as she plied her needles, she had wiped away a tear that hung among the furrows of her care-worn cheek.

She had been thinking of her husband, as well as of her son.

He was, or soon would be, in the midst of the traitors, and she trembled for him.

Uncle Wyman was a secessionist; and, beyond this, she had not much confidence in his integrity, and if Captain Somers came home at all, his property would all be swept away, and he would be a beggar.
The events of that day were not calculated to conciliate Squire Pemberton towards them, and the farm and the cottage would pass away from them.