Tears and laughter mingled with their words; but at last they became grave and quiet as they realized how many brave comrades would march with them no more.

In a few moments Blauvelt said, “Come; Miss Marian said she would not take a mouthful of breakfast till you returned with me.”

Merwyn saw them drive away, and said, bitterly, “Thanks to my mother, I shall never have any part in such greetings.”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Strahan’s escape.

After Blauvelt had left Mr. Vosburgh’s breakfast-table in obedience to his own and Marian’s wish to see Strahan at once, the young girl laughed outright—­she would laugh easily to-day—­and exclaimed:—­

“Poor Mr. Merwyn!  He is indeed doomed to inglorious inaction.  Before he could even start on his search, Strahan found him.  His part in this iron age will consist only in furnishing the sinews of war and dispensing canned delicacies in the hospitals.  I do feel sorry for him, for last night he seemed to realize the fact himself.  He looked like a ghost, back in the shadow that he sought when Captain Blauvelt’s story grew tragic.  I believe he suffered more in hearing about the shells than Mr. Blauvelt did in hearing and seeing them.”

“It’s a curious case,” said her father, musingly.  “He was and has been suffering deeply from some cause.  I have not fully accepted your theory yet.”

“Since even your sagacity can construct no other, I am satisfied that I am right.  But I have done scoffing at Mr. Merwyn, and should feel as guilty in doing so as if I had shown contempt for physical deformity.  I have become so convinced that he suffers terribly from consciousness of his weakness, that I now pity him from the depths of my heart.  Just think of a young fellow of his intelligence listening to such a story as we heard last night and of the inevitable contrasts that he must have drawn!”

“Fancy also,” said her father, smiling, “a forlorn lover seeing your cheeks aflame and your eyes suffused with tears of sympathy for young heroes, one of whom was reciting his epic.  Strahan is soon to repeat his; then Lane will appear and surpass them all.”

“Well,” cried Marian, laughing, “you’ll admit they form a trio to be proud of.”

“Oh, yes, and will have to admit more, I suppose, before long.  Girls never fall in love with trios.”

“Nonsense, papa, they are all just like brothers to me.”  Then there was a rush of tears to her eyes, and she said, brokenly, “The war is not over yet, and perhaps not one of them will survive.”

“Come, my dear,” her father reassured her, gently, “you must imitate your soldier friends, and take each day as it comes.  Remembering what they have already passed through, I predict that they all survive.  The bravest men are the most apt to escape.”