"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. "I assure you," he continued, "I feel happy at the knowledge
of being the medium through which this welcome intelligence has
reached you."

"You have, indeed, proved a friend," she said, extending her hand,
which he shook warmly, "and one that I feel I can trust."

"Do not speak of it," he answered; "it is only a natural act of
kindness towards one whom I desire to befriend."

"And one I will never cease to forget. Oh! if you had but known how I
felt during these past hours of agonizing suspense, you would not have
thought lightly of your kind attention; and I am sure when I write
Alfred of it, he will not have words sufficient to express his
gratitude."