But he was too good a patriot to reveal his impression, and said, earnestly:  “You are right, Mr. Merwyn.  There will be heavy fighting soon, and all the aid that you can give the Sanitary and Christian Commissions will tend to save life and relieve suffering.”

Under the circumstances he felt that he could not use any of the young man’s money, even as a temporary loan, although at times the employment of a few extra hundreds might aid him greatly in his work.

Merwyn went away chilled and saddened anew, yet feeling that his reception had been all that he had a right to expect.

There had been no lack of politeness on Mr. Vosburgh’s part, but his manner had not been that of a friend.

“He has recognized that I am under some secret restraint,” Merwyn thought, “and distrusts me at last.  He probably thinks, with his daughter, that I am afraid to go.  Oh that I had a chance to prove that I am, at least, not a coward!  In some way I shall prove it before many weeks pass.”

At dinner, that evening, Mr. Vosburgh smiled significantly at Marian, and said, “Who do you think called on me to-day?”

“Mr. Merwyn,” she said, promptly.

“You are right.  He came to offer—­”

“Money,” contemptuously completing her father’s sentence.

“You evidently think you understand him.  Perhaps you do; and I admit that I felt much as you do, to-day, when he offered his purse to the cause.  I fear, however, that we are growing a little morbid on this subject, and inclined to judgments too severe.  You and I have become like so many in the South.  This conflict and its results are everything to us, and we forget that we are surrounded by hundreds of thousands who are loyal, but are not ready for very great sacrifices.”

“We are also surrounded by millions that are, and I cast in my lot with these.  If this is to be morbid, we have plenty of company.”

“What I mean is, that we may be too hard upon those who do not feel, and perhaps are not capable of feeling, as we do.”

“O papa! you know the reason why Mr. Merwyn takes the course he does.”

“I know what you think to be the reason, and you may be right.  Your explanation struck me with more force than ever to-day; and yet, looking into the young fellow’s face, it seems impossible.  He impresses me strangely, and awakens much curiosity as to his future course.  He asked if he could call as usual, and I, with ordinary politeness, said, ‘Certainly.’  Indeed, there was a dignity about the fellow that almost compelled the word.  I don’t know that we have any occasion to regret it.  He has done nothing to forfeit mere courtesy on our part.”

“Oh, no,” said Marian, discontentedly; “but he irritates me.  I wish I had never known him, and that I might never meet him again.  I am more and more convinced that my theory about him is correct, and while I pity him sincerely, the ever-present consciousness of his fatal defect is more distressing—­perhaps I should say, annoying—­than if he presented some strong physical deformity.  He is such a superb and mocking semblance of a man that I cannot even think of him without exasperation.”