As soon as the groom had prepared the buggy, he announced to Dr. Humphries that it was in readiness. Calling Harry, who was again seated by the side of his betrothed, indulging in secret conversation, the Doctor went into the street where the buggy was.

"I will drive myself this morning, John," he remarked to the groom, "Mr. Harry will go with me."

"Berry well, sah," replied the groom, moving off.

Stepping into the buggy, followed by Harry, the Doctor took the reins in his hands and was about to drive off.

"Wait a moment," observed Harry, "has Elsy gone to the cabin?"

"No, I forgot all about her," answered the Doctor, "and I am glad you reminded me."

"You had better send for her at once, and give her orders to proceed immediately to the cabin," said Harry, "for without her we would be unable to know whether the child is that of Alfred Wentworth or of some other unfortunate soldier."

"Here, John!" called out Dr. Humphries after the retreating form of the groom, "come here to me."

The boy turned back and returned to the side of the buggy.

"Tell Elsy to come here at once," said the Doctor.

The boy moved off to comply with his master's order, and in a few moments returned, accompanied by Elsy.

"Do you go to the old woman's cabin," said Dr. Humphries, as soon as she had reached the side of the buggy, "and wait there until I arrive. There is no necessity to mention what I am going there for."

"Yes sah," replied Elsy, as she turned away to do her master's bidding.

"And now," remarked the Doctor, "we will go on and find out who these people are. But before we go, I had better purchase a few things that will relieve the necessities of the child."

With these words the Doctor drove off, and on arriving in front of a store, drew in the reins and, alighting, shortly after returned with several packages, which he placed in the buggy and, re-entering it, he drove to the cabin of the old slave. On arriving there the Doctor and Harry found the old woman and the child seated in the room talking. The boy appeared quite contented, now that his grief at the loss of his sister and departure of his mother had subsided, and was laughing merrily when they entered. He was dressed very cleanly and neatly by the old slave, who had expended all her savings in purchasing suitable cloths for him, and his appearance excited the remark of the Doctor and his companion the moment they entered the threshold of the room and saw him.

"Good day sah," said the old negro, rising and curtseying as soon as the two gentlemen entered.

"God day, Auntie," said the doctor, "how are you getting on."

"Berry well," answered the old woman, and then added, "I'm mighty glad you come here dis day, for I want to talk wid you 'bout dis here chile."

"I have heard all about him, Auntie," said the Doctor, "and have come here expressly for the purpose of learning something about his parents."

"'Spose dat gal Elsy tell you," observed the old woman, snappishly, nettled because she had not the opportunity of telling her master the tale of Mrs. Wentworth and her children.

"Yes, Auntie," he replied, "Elsy told me, but not before I had asked her all about those unfortunate people, so you must not be mad with her."

"She might ha' waited till you see me befo' she say anyting about it," remarked the old woman.

"Never mind that, Auntie," replied the Doctor, who knew the old woman's jealous disposition and wanted to pacify her. "Has Elsy been here yet?"

"No sah," she replied, "I aint seen her since mornin'."

"She will be here directly, then," he remarked, and seating himself the Doctor waited the arrival of Elsy.

"Come here my little man," said Harry, who had been sitting on the bed during the dialogue between the old slave and her master.

The child walked up to him and placed his arms on Harry's knees.

"What is your name," enquired the young man, lifting the child up on his knees.

"My name is Alf," he replied.

"Alf what?" asked Harry.

The child looked at him enquiringly, not understanding the question.

"What is your mother's name," continued Harry, perceiving that the boy was unable to answer his question.

"My ma's name is Eva," he answered.

"And your sister's?" asked Harry.

"My sister is named Ella," replied the child, and then added, mournfully, "but she is gone from here; they took her out in a little box and put her in the ground, and Granny says she is gone to heaven; and my ma," he continued, "some bad men carried away, but Granny says she will soon come back—wont she?" and his innocent face looked up confidingly in Harry's.

"Yes, my boy," he answered, "your ma will soon come back to you."

"There appears no doubt of the identity of this family," remarked Harry to Dr. Humphries, after a short pause, "everything we have yet discovered indicates that Alfred Wentworth's wife and children have passed a fearful life since their expulsion from New Orleans."

"Poor woman and children," observed the Doctor, dashing away a tear, "could I have known their penury, I should have been only glad to relieve them, and even now, it is not too late for us to benefit this child and his mother. As soon as Elsy arrives here I shall remove the boy to my house and visit the mother in jail."

"I do not think it advisable to move the child until you have succeeded in obtaining the release of Mrs. Wentworth," answered Harry. "His father may chance to see him, and, under the circumstances, would discover where his wife was; which discovery I desire to avoid as long as possible. The best thing that you can do is to leave the boy here for twenty-four hours longer, by which time bail can be procured for his mother, and I shall endeavor to silence the charge, so that there may be no necessity for a trial."

"May not Mr. Wentworth see the child and recognise him before we have accomplished his mother's release," enquired the Doctor.

"I do not think it likely," he replied, "Alfred will not visit so remote a vicinity, and the child need not be carried into the business portion of the city."

"I shall leave him here, then, as you think it advisable," remarked the Doctor; "it cannot injure him to remain in this cabin for a day longer, while it might lead to unpleasant discoveries should he be removed."

Harry and the old gentleman remained silent for some time, when Elsy entered the room. No sooner did the girl see the boy than she recognized her master's child, and taking him in her arms caressed him with all the exhibitions of affection the negro is capable of.

"Dis am Mas Alfred own chile" she exclaimed to Harry and the old gentleman, "and who would thought dat him would be libin' here."

"I supposed it was your master's child, my good girl," observed the Doctor, and then added, as he rose from his seat, "you can stay here with him until dark, when you had better return home; meanwhile, I do not wish you to let Mr. Wentworth know that his wife and child are in this city, nor do I wish you to take him out of this cabin. Come Harry," he continued, "let us go now and see the mother; she will be able to give us full details of her unfortunate life and to inform us of the cause for which she is in prison."

Leaving the cabin, the two gentlemen re-entered the buggy and drove to the Mayor's office. Finding him absent, they proceeded to his residence, and, after briefly narrating the tale of Mrs. Wentworth and her family, requested permission to visit her.

"Certainly, my dear sirs," replied Mr. Manship, such being the name of the Mayor, "take a seat while I write you an order of admittance."

In a few minutes the order to admit Dr. Humphries and his companion in the female's ward of the prison was written. Returning thanks to the Mayor, the two gentlemen started for the prison, and on showing the permit, were ushered into the cell occupied by Mrs. Wentworth.

"Good God!" exclaimed Harry, as he looked upon the squalid and haggard form of the broken hearted woman, "this surely cannot be the wife of Alfred Wentworth."

Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the visitors when they first entered, but on hearing her husband's name pronounced, rose from her crouching position and confronted the speaker. The name of the one she loved had awoke the slumbering faculties of the woman, and, like a flash of electricity on a rod of steel, her waning reason flared up for a moment.

"You spoke my husband's name," she said in a hoarse tone, "what of him?"

"He is my friend, madam," replied Harry, "and as such I have called to see you, so that you may be removed from this place."

"Thank you," she answered; "yours is the first voice of charity I have listened to since I left New Orleans. But it is too late; I have nothing now to live for. Adversity has visited me until nothing but disgrace and degradation is left of a woman who was once looked upon as a lady."

"There is no necessity for despondency, my good madam," observed Dr. Humphries. "The misfortunes which have attended you are such as all who were thrown in your situation are subject to. Our object in coming here," he continued, "is to learn the true cause of your being in this wretched place. Disguise nothing, but speak truthfully, for there are times when crimes in some become necessity in others."

"My tale is briefly told," she answered. "Forced by the cruelty of a villain to leave my comfortable home in New Orleans, I sought refuge in the Confederate lines. I anticipated that refugees would meet with a welcome from the more fortunate people of the South. In that I was disappointed; for when my means gave out, and every endeavor to procure work to feed my children had failed—when I had not a dollar to purchase bread for my innocent babes, I applied for assistance. None but the most dire necessity would have prompted me to such a step, and, Oh, God! when it was refused—when the paltry pittance I asked for was refused, the hope which I had clung so despairingly to, vanished, and I felt myself indeed a miserable woman. Piece after piece of furniture went, until all was gone—my clothing was next sold to purchase bread. The miserable life I led, the hours spent with my children around me crying for bread—the agonizing pangs which rent my mother's heart when I felt I could not comply with their demand—all—all combined to make me an object of abject misery. But why describe my sufferings? The balance of my tale is short. I was forced out of the shelter I occupied because I could not pay the owner his rent. My oldest child was then ill, and in the bleak night wind, canopied by heaven alone, I was thrust, homeless, from a shelter owned by a man whose wealth should have made him pause ere he performed such an act. With my sick child in my arms I wandered, I knew not where, until I found she had fainted. Hurrying to a small cabin on the road, I entered and there discovered an old negro woman. From the lips of a slave I first heard words of kindness, and for the first time aid was extended to me. Applying restoratives, my child revived and I waited until next morning, when I returned once more to ask for aid. A paltry sum was handed to me, more for the sake of getting rid of the mendicant than to relieve my distress. I felt that the sum offered was insufficient to supply the demands of my sick daughter and my starving boy. I was turning in despair away when my eye lit upon a package of money resting on the safe. For a moment I hesitated, but the thought of my children rose uppermost in my mind, and, seizing the package I hurried from the store."

"So you did take the money," said Harry.

"Yes," she replied, "but it did me little good, for when the doctor was called he pronounced my daughter beyond medical skill. She died that evening, and all the use to which the money was appropriated, was the purchase of a coffin."

"Then the—the—" said Harry, hesitating to use the word theft, "then, it was not discovered that you had taken the money until your child was dead and buried."

"No," she said, "listen—my child lay enrobed in her garment of death, and the sun was fast declining in the west, when Mr. Swartz and two constables entered the room and arrested me. On my bended knees I appealed to him not to tear me from the body of my child. Yes," she continued, excitedly, "I prayed to him in the most abject manner to leave me until my child was buried. My prayers were unavailing, and from the window of this cell I witnessed a lonely hearse pass by, followed by none other than my infant boy and the kind old negro. Oh God! Oh God!" she went on, bursting into tears and throwing herself on the wretched pallet in the cell, "my cup of misery was then full, and I had drained it to the very dregs. I have nothing more to live for now, and the few days longer I have to spend on earth can be passed as well in a prison as in a mansion."

"Not so," interrupted Dr. Humphries, "I trust you will live many, many years longer, to be a guardian to your child and a comfort to your husband."

"It cannot be," she answered sadly. "The brain, overwrought, will soon give way to madness, and then a welcome death will spare me the life of a maniac. I do not speak idly," she continued, observing the look they cast upon her; "from the depths of my mind, a voice whispers that my troubles on earth will soon be o'er. I have one desire, however, and should like to see it granted."

"Let me know what that is," remarked Dr. Humphries, "and if it lies in my power it shall be accorded to you with pleasure."

"Your companion spoke of my husband as his friend; does he know where he is at present, and if so, can I not see him?"

"I promise that you shall see your husband before many days. Until you are removed from this place I do not think it advisable, but," continued Harry, "I shall, on leaving this place, endeavor to secure your release."

Mrs. Wentworth made no answer, and, speaking a few words of consolation and hope to her, the two gentlemen left the prison. The next morning Harry called on the Mayor and asked if Mrs. Wentworth could be bailed, but on his honor mentioning that her trial would come off the next day, the court having met that evening, he determined to await the trial, confident that she would be acquitted when the facts of the case were made known to the jury. On the same day he met Alfred Wentworth, who informed him that he was more strongly impressed than ever in the belief that the pretended Englishman was a spy.

"I will inform you of a plan that will prove whether you are right or not," observed Harry, when he had concluded. "Tomorrow at about three o'clock in the evening persuade him to visit the Court House. I will be present, and if he is really the spy you imagine, will have full evidence against him."

"What evidence?" enquired Alfred.

"Never do you mind," he replied, "just bring him and there will be plenty of evidence found to convict him if he is a spy. By the way," he continued, "you said you suspected him to be the same man who caused your wife to be turned out of New Orleans?"

"Yes," Alfred answered, "but why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," he replied, "only in the event his being Awtry, you will have a double motive in finding out whether he is a spy or not."

"You are right," observed Alfred, "but whether he is Awtry or not, I should deem it my duty to the Government to ferret out the true status of that man, and to have him brought to justice if he is really a spy. Your request to carry him to the Court House is a strange one, and I will cheerfully comply with it, although I cannot see how his being there will enable us to make the discovery."

"Leave that to me," answered Harry, "and content yourself with believing that I am certain it will prove whether he is an Englishman or a Yankee."

With that the two friends departed and Harry returned home much perplexed at the manner he had arranged for the husband and wife to meet.