“It is settled then, and events will shape future action;” and he was turning hastily away.

A hand fell upon his arm, and never had he looked upon a face in which shame and contrition were so blended.

“What will be your future action towards me?” Marian asked, as she detained him.  “Will you have no mercy on the girl who was so weak as to be almost hysterical?”

“You have redeemed your weakness,” he replied, coldly.  “You are your old high-bred, courageous self, and you will probably cease to think of me as a coward before the day is over.  Good-afternoon;” and in a moment he was gone.

“I have offended him beyond hope,” she said, as she turned, drooping, to her father.

“Never imagine it, darling,” her father replied, with a smile.  “His lip quivered as you spoke, and I have learned to read the faintest signs in a man.  You have both been overwrought and in no condition for calm, natural action.  Mervvyn will relent.  You lost your poise through excitement, not cowardice, and he, young and all undisciplined, has witnessed scenes that might appall a veteran.  But now all must be courage and action.  Since you will remain with me you must be a soldier, and be armed like one.  Come with me to my room, and I will give you a small revolver.  I am glad that you have amused yourself with the dangerous toy, and know how to use it.  Then you must help me plan a disguise which will almost deceive your eyes.  Keeping busy, my dear, will prove the best tonic for your nerves.  Mammy Borden, you must go to your room and stay there till we find a way of sending you to a place of safety.  After you have disappeared for a time I’ll tell the other servant that you have gone away.  I sent your son home before I left the office, and he, no doubt, is keeping out of harm’s way.”

The old woman courtesied, but there was a dogged, hunted look in her eyes as she crept away, muttering, “Dis is what Zeb call de ‘lan’ ob de free!’”

CHAPTER XLIV.

A wife’s embrace.

“O papa,” cried Marian, after reaching the library, “we let Mr. Merwyn go without a lunch, and it’s nearly two o’clock.  Nor do I believe you have had a mouthful since breakfast, and I’ve forgotten all about providing anything.  Oh, how signally I have failed on the first day of battle!”

“You are not the first soldier, by untold millions, who has done so; but you have not shown the white feather yet.”

“When I do that I shall expire from shame.  You rummage for a disguise, and I’ll be back soon.”

She hastened to the kitchen, and at a glance saw that the Irish cook had fled, taking not a little with her.  The range fire was out, and the refrigerator and the store-closet had been ravaged.  She first barred and bolted all the doors, and then the best she could bring her father was crackers and milk and some old Sherry wine; but she nearly dropped these when she saw a strange man, as she supposed, emerge from his bedroom.