“Yes,” said Mrs. Thornton.
“And everybody thinking everything would soon be settled,” continued Mary.
“Yes,” said the sympathetic lady, and her husband touched her quietly, meaning for her not to interrupt.
“We didn’t think the Union could be broken so easily,” pursued Mary. “And then all at once it was unsafe and improper to travel alone. Still I went to New York, to take steamer around by sea. But the last steamer had sailed, and I had to go back home; for—the fact is,”—she smiled,—“my money was all gone. It was September before I could raise enough to start again; but one morning I got a letter from New Orleans, telling me that John was very ill, and enclosing money for me to travel with.”
She went on to tell the story of her efforts to get a pass on the bank of the Ohio river, and how she had gone home once more, knowing she was watched, not daring for a long time to stir abroad, and feeding on the frequent hope that New Orleans was soon to be taken by one or another of the many naval expeditions that from time to time were, or were said to be, sailing.
“And then suddenly—my mother died.”
Mrs. Thornton gave a deep sigh.
“And then,” said Mary, with a sudden brightening, but in a low voice, “I determined to make one last effort. I sold everything in the world I had and took Alice and started. I’ve come very slowly, a little way at a time, feeling along, for I was resolved not to be turned back. I’ve been weeks getting this far, and the lines keep moving south ahead of me. But I haven’t been turned back,” she went on to say, with a smile, “and everybody, white and black, everywhere, has been just as kind as kind can be.” Tears stopped her again.
“Well, never mind, Mrs. Richling,” said Mrs. Thornton; then turned to her husband, and asked, “May I tell her?”
“Yes.”