“Pardon me,” cried the girl, almost passionately.  “Any man who voluntarily faces this storm, and crosses that river to-night or to-morrow, does infinitely more in my estimation.”

Her father smiled, but evidently his appetite was flagging also, and he soon went out to send and receive some cipher despatches.

Merwyn was growing hungry for some evidence of greater friendliness than he had yet received.  Hitherto, he had never seen Marian alone when calling, and the thought had occurred that if he braved the storm in paying her a visit, the effort might be appreciated.  One part of his hope was fulfilled, for he found her drawing-room empty.  While he waited, that other stormy and memorable evening when he had sought to find her alone flashed on his memory, and he feared that he had made a false step in coming.

This impression was confirmed by her pale face and distant greeting.  In vain he put forth his best efforts to interest her.  She remained coldly polite, took but a languid part in the conversation, and at times even permitted him to see that her thoughts were preoccupied.  He had been humble and patient a long time, and now, in spite of himself, his anger began to rise.

Feeling that he had better take his leave while still under self-control, and proposing also to hint that she had failed somewhat in courtesy, he arose abruptly and said:  “You are not well this evening, Miss Vosburgh?  I should have perceived the fact earlier.  I wish you good-night.”

She felt the slight sting of his words, and was in no mood to endure it.  Moreover, if she had failed in such courtesy as he had a right to expect, he should know the reason, and she felt at the moment willing that he should receive the implied reproach.

Therefore she said:  “Pardon me, I am quite well.  It is natural that I should be a little distraite, for I have learned that my friends are exposed to this storm, and will probably engage in another terrible battle to-morrow, or soon.”

Again the old desperate expression, that she remembered so well, came into his eyes as he exclaimed, bitterly:  “You think me a coward because I remain in the city?  What is this storm, or that battle, compared with what I am facing!  Good-night;” and, giving her no chance for further words, he hastened away.

CHAPTER XXI.

Fears and perplexities.

Merwyn found the storm so congenial to his mood that he breasted it for hours before returning to his home.  There, in weariness and reaction, he sank into deep dejection.