“Like the wearer,” said Marian.  “I should have been sorry indeed if you had changed it.”

“Well, I knew that you would be anxious to have even a negative assurance of Strahan’s safety.”

“And equally so to be positively assured of your own.”

“I hoped that that would be true to some extent.  My dear old mother, in New Hampshire, to whom I have telegraphed, is eager to see me, and so I shall go on in the morning.”

“You must be our guest, then, to-night,” said Mr. Vosburgh, decisively.  “We will take no refusal, and I shall send at once to the hotel for your luggage.”

“It is small indeed,” laughed Blauvelt, flushing with pleasure, “for I came away in very light marching order.”

Marian then explained that Merwyn, who, after a brief, polite greeting from Blauvelt, had been almost forgotten, was about to start in search of Strahan.

“I would not lay a straw in his way, and possibly he may obtain some clue that escaped me,” said the young officer.

“Perhaps, if you feel strong enough to tell us something of that part of the battle in which you were engaged, and of your search, Mr. Merwyn may receive hints which will be of service to him,” Mr. Vosburgh suggested.

“I shall be very glad to do so, and feel entirely equal to the effort.  Indeed, I have been resting and sleeping in the cars nearly all day, and am so much better that I scarcely feel it right to be absent from the regiment.”

They at once repaired to the library, Marian leaving word with Mammy Borden that they were engaged, should there be other callers.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A glimpse of war.

“Captain Blauvelt,” said Marian, when they were seated in the library, “I have two favors to ask of you.  First, that you will discontinue your story as soon as you feel the least weakness, and, second, that you will not gloss anything over.  I wish a life-picture of a soldier’s experience.  You and Mr. Strahan have been inclined to give me the brighter side of campaigning.  Now, tell us just what you and Mr. Strahan did.  I’ve no right to be the friend of soldiers if I cannot listen to the tragic details of a battle, while sitting here in this quiet room, and I wish to realize, as I never have done, what you and others have passed through.  Do not be so modest that you cannot tell us exactly what you did.  In brief, a plain, unvarnished tale unfold, and I shall be content.”

“Now,” she thought, “Mr. Merwyn shall know to whom I can give my friendship.  I do not ask him, or any one, to face these scenes, but my heart is for a man who can face them.”

Blauvelt felt that he was fortunate indeed.  He knew that he had fair powers as a raconteur, and he was conscious of having taken no unworthy part in the events he was about to describe, while she, who required the story, was the woman whom he most admired, and whose good opinion was dear to him.