“Say, then, terrible work up town.  The orphan asylum sacked and burned.  Many private residences also.  The mob having its own way.  A crowd is coming, and I must not be seen here.  Will be back to-night if possible;” and the unseen communicator of dismal intelligence went westward with hasty steps.

Marian trembled as she heard the confused, noisy tread of many feet.  Hastening to the second story, she peeped through the blinds, and shuddered as she saw a fragment of the mob which had been defeated on Broadway, returning to their haunts on the west side.  Baffled and infuriated, they made the street echo with their obscene words and curses.  Her heart almost stood still as they approached her door, and with white, compressed lips she grasped her revolver; but the rioters passed on like a flock of unclean birds, and the street became quiet again.

She was now so anxious about her father that she maintained her position of observation.  The coming storm lowering in the west oppressed her with its terrible symbolism.  Already the street was darkening, while from other parts of the city came strange sounds.

“Oh, if papa should never come back,—­if the mob should have its own way everywhere!  To think of staying here alone to-night!  Would he come again after my treatment this morning?”

She was aroused from her deep and painful revery by a knocking on the basement door.  Hastening down she was overjoyed to hear her father’s voice, and when he entered she clung to him, and kissed him with such energy that his heavy beard came off, and his disguising wig was all awry.

“O papa!” she cried, “I’m so glad you are back safe!  A body of rioters passed through the street, and the thought of your falling into such hands sickened me with fear;” and then she breathlessly told him of all that had occurred, and of Mammy Borden’s disappearance.

He reassured her gently, yet strongly, and her quick ear caught the ring of truth in his words.

“I, too, have much to tell you,” he said, “and much to do; so we must talk as we work.  First help me to unpack and put away these provisions.  This evening I must get a stout German woman that I know of to help you.  You must not be left alone again, and I have another plan in mind for our safety.  I think the worst is over, but it is best not to entertain a sense of false security for a moment in these times.  The mob has been thoroughly whipped on Broadway.  I’ll tell you all about it after we have had a good cup of coffee and a little supper.  Now that there is a respite I find I’m almost faint myself from reaction and fatigue.”

“Have you seen—­do you think Mr. Merwyn will be here again?”

“I’ve seen him, and so have others, to their sorrow.  ‘Coward,’ indeed!” He threw back his head and laughed.  “I only wish I had a regiment of such cowards, and I could abolish the mob in twenty-four hours.  But I’ll tell you the whole story after supper is ready, and will show how quickly a soldier can get up a meal in an emergency.  You must go into training as a commissary at once.”