It had not taken the widow long to pack up her three dresses, and her small, old-fashioned hair trunk, locked and tied round with a bit of rope, was standing near the door ready for the morrow’s early train. On Annie’s face there was a hopeful, expectant expression, which told how glad she was at the prospect of meeting her husband so soon. “Two days more and I shall see him,” she thought, picturing to herself the meeting, and fancying what she would do, what she would say, and how carefully she would nurse him when once she was there with him. It was a bright picture she drew of that meeting with her husband,—of the kisses, the caresses, she would lavish upon him, and she was almost as impatient as Rose herself to have the November day come to an end, knowing that with the darkness she was nearer to the asked-for to-morrow. Just as the sun was setting, Rose took her leave, saying, as she bade Annie good-bye, “I mean to drive round by the depot and get the tickets to-night, so as to save time in the morning.” Annie smiled at the little lady’s restlessness, and after kissing her good-night, stood by the window watching her, as she drove down the street, and thinking to herself, “When I see her again it will be _to-morrow_.” Rapidly Rose Mather’s iron greys bore her to the depot, where but a few idlers were lounging, as it was past the hour for the cars. The window between the ladies’ sitting-room, and the office was closed, and Rose knocked against it in vain. The ticket agent had gone to his tea, and with a feeling of dissatisfaction Rose was turning away, when a sharp, clicking sound from an adjoining apartment reached her ear, and stepping to the open door, she stood looking in, while the telegraphic operator received a communication. What was it that made him start so, and utter an exclamation of surprise? Was it bad news the wires had brought to him? Had there been another battle? Was Washington in danger? Rose wished she knew, and she was about to inquire, when the operator turned upon her, and asked if she knew _Mrs. Graham_, wife of the Lieutenant? “Yes, yes; has anything happened to him?” she answered, grasping the now written message, which the agent handed her, saying: “Break it to her as gently as possible. He was the finest fellow in all the company,” and the kind-hearted man, not yet accustomed to the horrors entailed by the war, wiped a tear away, as he muttered to himself, “Poor George!” There was no need for Rose to open the envelope, for she knew well enough what it contained, but her fingers mechanically tore it apart, and with streaming eyes she read the fatal message which would break poor Annie’s heart. “Oh, I _cannot_ tell her,” she cried, sinking down upon the hard settee, and sobbing bitterly. “How can I take this to her, when I left her so happy half an hour ago?”