One evening her father looked very grave as he handed Marian the note addressed to him.

“O papa!” exclaimed the girl, “he’s worse!”

“Yes, I fear Strahan is in a very critical condition.  I happened to meet Merwyn when he left the note to-day, and the young fellow himself looked haggard and ill.  But he carelessly assured me that he was perfectly well.  He said that the crisis of Strahan’s fever was approaching, and that the indications were bad.”

“Papa!” cried the girl, tearfully, “I can’t endure this suspense and inaction.  Why would it be bad taste for us to call on Mrs. Strahan this evening?  She must know how dear a friend Arthur is to me.  I don’t care for conventionality in a case like this.  It seems cold-blooded to show no apparent interest, and it might do Arthur good if he should learn that we had been there because of our anxiety and sympathy.”

“Well, my dear, what you suggest is the natural and loyal course, and therefore outweighs all conventionality in my mind.  We’ll go after dinner.”

Marian’s doubt as to her reception by Mrs. Strahan was speedily dispelled, for the sorrow-stricken mother was almost affectionate in her welcome.

“Arthur, in his delirium, often mentions your name,” she said, “and then he is in camp or battle again, or else writing his journal.  I have thought of sending for you, but he wouldn’t have known you.  He does not even recognize me, and has not for days.  Our physician commands absolute quiet and as little change in those about him as possible.  What we should have done without Mr. Merwyn I scarcely know.  He is with him now, and has watched every night since Arthur’s return.  I never saw any one so changed, or else we didn’t understand him.  He is tireless in his strength, and womanly in his patience.  His vigils are beginning to tell on him sadly, but he says that he will not give up till the crisis is past.  If Arthur lives he will owe his life largely to one who, last summer, appeared too indolent to think of anything but his own pleasure.  How we often misjudge people!  They were boys and playmates together, and are both greatly changed.  O Miss Vosburgh, my heart just stands still with dread when I think of what may soon happen.  Arthur had become so manly, and we were so proud of him!  He has written me more than once of your influence, and I had hoped that the way might open for our better acquaintance.”

“Do you think the crisis may come to-night?” Marian asked, with quivering lips.

“Yes, it may come now at any hour.  The physician will remain all night.”

“Oh, I wish I might know early in the morning.  Believe me, I shall not sleep.”

“You shall know, Miss Vosburgh, and I hope you will come and see me, whatever happens.  You will please excuse me now, for I cannot be away from Arthur at this time.  I would not have seen any one but you.”

At one o’clock in the morning there was a ring at Mr. Vosburgh’s door.  He opened it, and Merwyn stood there wrapped in his fur cloak.  “Will you please give this note to Miss Vosburgh?” he said.  “I think it contains words that will bring welcome relief and hope.  I would not have disturbed you at this hour had I not seen your light burning;” and, before Mr. Vosburgh could reply, he lifted his hat and strode away.