Marian’s greeting of Strahan was so full of feeling, and so many tears suffused her dark blue eyes, that they inspired false hopes in his breast and unwarranted fears in that of Blauvelt.  The heroic action and tragic experience of the young and boyish Strahan had touched the tenderest chords in her heart.  Indeed, as she stood, holding his left hand in both her own, they might easily have been taken for brother and sister.  His eyes were almost as blue as hers, and his brow, where it had not been exposed to the weather, as fair.  She knew of his victory over himself.  Almost at the same time with herself, he had cast behind him a weak, selfish, frivolous life, assuming a manhood which she understood better than others.  Therefore, she had for him a tenderness, a gentleness of regard, which her other friends of sterner natures could not inspire.  Indeed, so sisterly was her feeling that she could have put her arms about his neck and welcomed him with kisses, without one quickening throb of the pulse.  But he did not know this then, and his heart bounded with baseless hopes.

Poor Blauvelt had never cherished many, and the old career with which he had tried to be content defined itself anew.  He would fight out the war, and then give himself up to his art.

He could be induced to stay only long enough to finish his breakfast, and then said:  “Strahan can tell me the rest of his story over the camp-fire before long.  My mother has now the first claim, and I must take a morning train in order to reach home to-night.”

“I also must go,” exclaimed Mr. Vosburgh, looking at his watch, “and shall have to hear your story at second hand from Marian.  Rest assured,” he added, laughing, “it will lose nothing as she tells it this evening.”

“And I order you, Captain Blauvelt, to make this house your headquarters when you are in town,” said Marian, giving his hand a warm pressure in parting.  Strahan accompanied his friend to the depot, then sought his family physician and had his wound dressed.

“I advise that you reach your country home soon,” said the doctor; “your pulse is feverish.”

The young officer laughed and thought he knew the reason better than his medical adviser, and was soon at the side of her whom he believed to be the exciting cause of his febrile symptoms.

“Oh,” he exclaimed, throwing himself on a lounge, “isn’t this infinitely better than a stifling Southern prison?” and he looked around the cool, shadowy drawing-room, and then at the smiling face of his fair hostess, as if there were nothing left to be desired.

“You have honestly earned this respite and home visit,” she said, taking a low chair beside him, “and now I’m just as eager to hear your story as I was to listen to that of Captain Blauvelt, last night.”

“No more eager?” he asked, looking wistfully into her face.

“That would not be fair,” she replied, gently.  “How can I distinguish between my friends, when each one surpasses even my ideal of manly action?”