"O, dear!" groaned Mr. Manly, "this wicked, this wicked rebellion! George is killed, and now Frank! What can we do? what can we do, mother?" he asked, helplessly. While he was groaning, his wife rose up with that energy which so often atoned for the lack of it in him. "I am going to Roanoke Island! I am going to my child in the hospital!" That very day she set out. Alone she went, but she was not long without a companion. On the boat to Fortress Monroe she saw a solitary and disconsolate young woman, whose face she was confident of having seen somewhere before. She accosted her, found her going the same journey with herself, and on a similar errand, and learned her history. "My husband, that I was married to at the cars just as his regiment was leaving Boston, has been shot at Roanoke Island, and whether he is alive or dead I do not know." "Your husband," said Mrs. Manly,--"my son knows him well. They were close friends!" And from that moment the mother of Frank and the wife of Atwater were close friends also, supporting and consoling each other on the journey. XXXIII. A FRIEND IN NEED. At Roanoke Island, a certain tall, lank, athletic private had been detailed for fatigue duty at the landing, when the steamer from the inlet arrived. Being at leisure, he was watching with an expression of drollery and inquisitiveness for somebody to tell him the news, when he saw two bewildered, anxious women come ashore, and look about them, as if waiting for assistance. Prompted by his naturally accommodating disposition, and no less by honest curiosity, the soldier stepped up to them. "Ye don't seem over'n above familiar in these parts, ladies," he said, with his politest grin. "We are looking for an officer who promised to aid us in finding our friends in the hospital--or at least in getting news from them," said the elder of the two,--a fine-looking, though distressed and careworn woman of forty. "Sho! wal. I s'pose he's got other things to look after, like as not!" And the soldier, in his sympathy, cast his eyes around in search of the officer. "Got friends in the hospital, hev ye?" Then peering curiously under the bonnet of the young female, "Ain't you the gal that merried Atwater?" "O! do you know him? Is he--is he alive?" By which eager interrogatives he perceived that she was "the gal." The droll countenance grew solemn. "I ain't edzac'ly prepared to answer that last question, Miss--Miss Atwater!" he said, with some embarrassment. "But the fust I can respond to with right good will. Did I know him!"--Tears came into his eyes as he added, "Abe Atwater, ma'am, was my friend; and a braver soldier or a better man don't at this moment exist!" "Then you must know my boy, too!" cried the elder female,--"Frank Manly, drummer." The soldier brightened at once.