The shades of evening had overshadowed the earth, and Mrs.Wentworth sat at the window of her dwelling waiting the arrival of the news, which would either remove her fears or plunge her in sorrow.

Long hours passed, and she had almost despaired of Mr.Awtry's coming that evening, when he walked up the street, and in a few minutes was in the house.
"What news ?" gasped Mrs.Wentworth, starting from her seat and meeting him at the door of the apartment.
"Read it, my dear madam.

I shall leave that pleasure to you," he replied, handing her a telegraphic dispatch he held in his hand.
Taking the dispatch, Mrs.Wentworth, with trembling fingers, unfolded it and read these words: "Mrs.Eva Wentworth, New Orleans, Louisiana: Yours received.

I am safe.

Alfred Wentworth." As soon as she had read the dispatch, her pent up anxiety for his safety was allayed, and throwing herself on her knees before a couch, regardless of the presence of Mr.Awtry, who stood looking on, Mrs.Wentworth poured forth a prayer of thanks at the safety of her husband, while tears of joy trickled down her cheeks.
"Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs.Wentworth, on the safety of your husband," said Horace Awtry, after she had become sufficiently composed.