The possibility of this made her so ill and faint that she hastily left the apartment and went up to the darkened drawing-room, where her father found her a moment later seeking to stifle her sobs.

“Why, Marian, darling, you who have kept up so bravely are not going to give way now.”

“I’m not afraid for myself,” she faltered, “but Mr. Merwyn does not come.  You said he was marching to another fight.  He may be wounded; he may be—­” her voice fell to a whisper—­“he may be dead.”

“No, Marian,” replied her father, confidently, “that young fellow has a future.  He is one of those rare spirits which a period like this develops, and he’ll take no common part in it.  He has probably gone to see if his own home is safe.  Now trust God and be a soldier, as you promised.”

“I couldn’t bear to have anything happen to him and I have no chance to make amends, to show I am not so weak and silly as I appeared this morning.”

“Then let him find you strong and self-controlled when he appears.  Come down now, for I must question my agents while they are yet at supper; then I must go out, and I’ll leave them for your protection till I return.”

He put his arm about her, and led her to the stairway, meanwhile thinking, “A spell is working now which she soon will have to recognize.”

By the time his agents had finished their meal, Mr. Vosburgh had completed his examination of them and made his notes.  He then placed a box of cigars on the table, instructed them about admitting Merwyn should he come, and with his daughter went up to the library, where he wrote another long despatch.

“After sending this,” he said, “and getting the woman I spoke of, I will not leave you again to-night, unless there should be very urgent necessity.  You can sit in the darkened front room, and watch till either I or Merwyn returns.”

This she did and listened breathlessly.

The rain continued to pour in torrents, and the lightning was still so vivid as to blind her eyes at times, while the crashes of thunder often drowned the roar of the unquiet city; but undaunted, tearless, motionless, she watched the deserted street and listened for the footfall of one whom she had long despised, as she had assured herself.

An hour passed.  The storm was dying away, and still he did not come.  “Alas!” she sighed, “he is wounded; if not by the rabble, certainly by me.  I know now what it has cost him to be thought a coward for months, and must admit that I don’t understand him at all.  How vividly come back the words he spoke last December, ’What is the storm, and what the danger, to that which I am facing?’ What was he facing?  What secret and terrible burden has he carried patiently through all my coldness and scorn?  Oh, why was I such an idiot as to offend him mortally just as he was about to retrieve himself and render papa valuable assistance,—­worse still, when he came to my protection!”