Weeks passed and she heard nothing from him, nor did her father mention his name.  While her regret was distinct and positive, it must not be supposed that it gave her serious trouble.  Indeed, the letters of Mr. Lane, and the semi-humorous journal of Strahan and Blauvelt, together with the general claims of society and her interest in her father’s deep anxieties, were fast banishing it from her mind, when, to her surprise, his card was handed to her one stormy afternoon, late in January.

“I am sorry to intrude upon you, Miss Vosburgh,” he began, as she appeared, “but—­”

“Why should you regard it as an intrusion, Mr. Merwyn?”

“I think a lady has a right to regard any unwelcome society as an intrusion.”

“Admitting even so much, it does not follow that this is an intrusion,” she said, laughing.  Then she added, with slightly heightened color:  “Mr. Merwyn, I must at least keep my own self-respect, and this requires an acknowledgment.  I was rude to you when you last called.  But I was morbid from anxiety and worry over what was happening.  I had no right to grant your request to call upon me and then fail in courtesy.”

“Will you, then, permit me to renew my old request?” he asked, with an eagerness that he could not disguise.

“Certainly not.  That would imply such utter failure on my part!  You should be able to forgive me one slip, remembering the circumstances.”

“You have the most to forgive,” he replied, humbly.  “I asked for little more than toleration, but I felt that I had not the right to force even this upon you.”

“I am glad you are inclined to be magnanimous,” she replied, laughing.  “Women usually take advantage of that trait in men—­when they manifest it.  We’ll draw a line through the evening of the 20th of December, and, as Jefferson says, in his superb impersonation of poor old Rip, ‘It don’t count.’  By the way, have you seen him?” she asked, determined that the conversation should take a different channel.

“No; I have been busy of late.  But pardon me, Miss Vosburgh, I’m forgetting my errand shamefully.  Do not take the matter too seriously.  I think you have no reason to do so.  Mr. Strahan is in the city and is ill.  I have just come from him.”

Her face paled instantly, and she sank into a chair.

“I beg of you not to be so alarmed,” he added, hastily.  “I shall not conceal anything from you.  By the merest chance I saw him coming up Broadway in a carriage, and, observing that he looked ill, jumped into a hack and followed him to his residence.  You had reason for your anxiety on December 20th, for he took a severe cold from exposure that night.  For a time he made light of it, but at last obtained sick-leave.  He asked me to tell you—­”

“He has scarcely mentioned the fact that he was not well;” and there was an accent of reproach in the young girl’s tones.

“I understand Strahan better than I once did, perhaps because better able to understand him,” was Merwyn’s quiet reply.  “He is a brave, generous fellow, and, no doubt, wished to save you from anxiety.  There has been no chance for him to say very much to me.”