Marian had much warm blood in her veins and fire in her spirit, and on provocation could become deeply incensed at others, as we have seen; but so devoid of petty vanity was she that she could be almost equally angry at herself.  She did not share her father’s confidence that Merwyn would relent under a few smiles, for she knew how deeply she had wounded and wronged him, and she believed that he possessed a will as steadfast as fate.  The desire to test her father’s theory, the hope to atone for her wrong judgment, grew so strong and absorbing as to make the awful fact of the riot secondary in her thoughts.

To get through the hours she felt that she must keep incessantly busy.  She first went to her own room, packed valuables and jewels in a convenient form to carry if there should be cause for a hasty exit, then concealed them.  Going to her mother’s and father’s room, she acted in view of the same possible necessity, all the while carrying on the distinct process of thought in regard to Merwyn, dwelling on their past relations, but above all questioning his course when they should meet again.

Suddenly she reproached herself with forgetfulness of Mammy Borden.  True, not much time had passed; but the poor creature, after what she had heard, should be reassured frequently.  She went to the attic room, but it was empty.  On inspection it became evident that the colored woman had made up her little bundle and departed.  Calling as she went down through the house, Marian reached the basement and saw that its door had been unfastened.

“She has gone to join her son,” said the girl, as she hastily rebolted and barred the door.  “Oh what awful imprudence!  Perhaps she also wished to relieve us of the danger of her presence.  Well, I am now alone in very truth.  I could now give Mr. Merwyn a very different reception.  He and papa will be here soon perhaps.  Oh, I wish I knew how to make coffee, but I can’t even kindle a fire in the range.  I have proved myself to-day a fine subject for a soldier.  My role is to listen, in elegant costume, to heroic deeds, and to become almost hysterical in the first hour of battle.  O ’Missy S’wanee,’ I make a sorry figure beside you, facing actual war and cheering on your friends!”

Thus she passed the time in varied and bitter soliloquy while putting the kitchen and closets in order, and in awkward attempts to remove the debris of the last fire from the range.  The gas gave light for her efforts, for the closed shutters darkened the apartment.

She was startled by a tap at the door.

“Well?” she faltered, after a moment’s hesitation.

“‘Gettysburg and Little Round Top,’” was the response.

“Mr. Vosburgh is out, and left word that you should linger near till he returned and then come again.”

“I cannot do that.  It would not be safe for either him or me.  He does not realize.  Can you be trusted?”

“I am his daughter.”