At last Mr. Elder spoke, and his words were eagerly listened to by
Mrs. Wentworth.

"This annoys me very much," he said. "Your importunities are very
disagreeable to me, and I must insist that they shall cease. As I told
you before, I cannot afford to lose tenants in an unnecessary act of
liberality, and through mistaken charity. The fact is," he continued
in a firm and decisive tone, "you _must_ leave this room to-night. I
will not listen to any more of your pleading. Your case is but the
repetition of many others who fled from their homes and left all they
had, under the impression that the people of other States would be
compelled to support them. This is a mistaken idea, and the sooner its
error is made known the better it will be for the people of the South,
whose homes are in the hands of the enemy."

"Then you are determined that my children and myself shall be turned
from the shelter of this room to-night," she enquired, dropping her
hands by her side, and assuming a standing attitude.

"You have heard what I have already said, my good woman," he replied.
"And let me repeat, that I will listen to no further supplications."

"I shall supplicate to you no more," she answered. "I see, alas! too
well, that I might sooner expect pity from the hands of an uncivilized
Indian than charity or aid from you. Nor will I give you any trouble
to forcibly eject me."

"I am very glad to hear it," he rejoined.