Marian saw the deep gladness in her father’s eyes and heard it in his tones, and, while she shared in his gratitude and relief, her heart was oppressed with solicitude for her friends.  To her, who had no near kindred in the war, these young men had become almost as dear as brothers.  She was conscious of their deep affection, and she felt that there could be no rejoicing for her until she was assured of their safety.  All spoke of the battle of Gettysburg as one of the most terrific combats of the world.  Two of her friends must have been in the thick of it.  She read the blood-stained accounts with paling cheeks, and at last saw the words, “Captain Blauvelt, wounded; Major Strahan, wounded and missing.”

This was all.  There was room for hope; there was much cause to fear the worst.  From Lane there were no tidings whatever.  She was oppressed with the feeling that perhaps the frank, true eyes of these loyal friends might never again look into her own.  With a chill of unspeakable dread she asked herself what her life would be without these friends.  Who could ever take their place or fill the silence made by their hushed voices?

Since reading the details of the recent battle her irritation against Merwyn had passed away, and she now felt for him only pity.  Her own brave spirit had been awed and overwhelmed by the accounts of the terrific cannonade and the murderous hand-to-hand struggles.  At night she would start up from vivid dreams wherein she saw the field with thousands of ghastly faces turned towards the white moonlight.  In her belief Merwyn was incapable of looking upon such scenes.  Therefore why should she think of him with scorn and bitterness?  She herself had never before realized how terrible they were.  Now that the dread emergency, with its imperative demand for manhood and action, had passed, her heart became softened and chastened with thoughts of death.  She was enabled to form a kinder judgment, and to believe it very possible that Merwyn, in the consciousness of his weakness, was suffering more than many a wounded man of sterner mettle.

On the evening of the day whereon she had read the ominous words in regard to her friends, Merwyn’s card was handed to her, and, although surprised, she went down to meet him without hesitation.  His motives for this call need brief explanation.

For a time he had given way to the deepest dejection in regard to his own prospects.  There seemed nothing for him to do but wait for the arrival of his mother, whom he could not welcome.  He still had a lingering hope that when she came and found her ambitious dreams of Southern victory dissipated, she might be induced to give him back his freedom, and on this hope he lived.  But, in the main, he was like one stunned and paralyzed by a blow, and for a time he could not rally.  He had been almost sleepless for days from intense excitement and expectation, and the reaction was proportionately great.  At