Marian was sincerely perplexed by the attitude of her mind towards this young officer.  He kindled her enthusiasm and evoked admiration without stint.  He represented to her the highest type of manhood in that period of doubt, danger, and strong excitement.  Brave to the last degree, his courage was devoid of recklessness.  The simple, untutored description of his action given by the refugees had only made it all the more clear that his mind was as keen and bright as his sword, while in chivalric impulses he had never been surpassed.  Unconsciously Mammy Borden and her son had revealed traits in him which awakened Marian’s deepest respect, suggesting thoughts of which she would not have spoken to any one.  She had been shown his course towards beautiful women who were in his power, and who at the same time were plotting his destruction and that of his command.  While he foiled their hostile purpose, no knight of olden times could have shown them more thoughtful consideration and respect.  She felt that her heart ought to go out towards this ideal lover in utter abandon.  Why did it not?  Why were her pride, exultation, and deep solicitude too near akin to the emotions she would have felt had he been her brother?  Was this the only way in which she could love?  Would the sacred, mysterious, and irresistible impulses of the heart, of which she had read, follow naturally in due time?

She was inclined to believe that this was true, yet, to her surprise, the thought arose unbidden:  “If Willard Merwyn were showing like qualities and making the same record—­What absurdity is this!” she exclaimed aloud.  “Why does this Mr. Merwyn so haunt me, when I could not give him even respect and friendship, although he sent an army into the field, yet was not brave enough to go himself?  Where is he?  What is he doing in these supreme hours of his country’s history?  Everything is at stake at the front, yes, and even here at the North, for I can see that papa dreads unspeakably what each day may bring forth, yet neither this terrible emergency nor the hope of winning my love can brace his timid soul to manly action.  There is more manhood in one drop of the blood shed by Captain Lane than in Merwyn’s whole shrinking body.”

CHAPTER XXX.

The north invaded.

Merwyn could scarcely have believed that he had sunk so low in Marian’s estimation as her words at the close of the previous chapter indicated, yet he guessed clearly the drift of her opinion in regard to him, and he saw no way of righting himself.  In the solitude of his country home he considered and dismissed several plans of action.  He thought of offering his services to the Sanitary Commission, but his pride prevented, for he knew that she and others would ask why a man of his youth and strength sought a service in which sisters of charity could be his equals in efficiency.  He also saw that joining a regiment of the city militia was but a half-way measure that might soon lead to the violation of his oath, since these regiments could be ordered to the South in case of an emergency.