Mr. Vosburgh spoke with dignity, and the young fellow’s face flushed under the reproof in his tone.

“I suppose I have become morbid on the subject,” he said, with some embarrassment.  “I now ask your pardon, and admit that the expression was in bad taste, to say the least.”

“Yes, it was, in view of the evident fact that we now esteem and honor you as a brave man.  I would not give you my hand in friendship and trust concerning matters vital to me were this not so.”

Merwyn took the proffered hand with a deep flush of pleasure.

“Having learned the bitterness of being misjudged,” said Marian, quietly, “Mr. Merwyn should be careful how he misjudges others.”

“That’s a close shot, Merwyn,” said Mr. Vosburgh, laughing.

Their guest started and bent a keen glance on the girl’s averted face, and then said, earnestly:  “Miss Vosburgh, your father has spoken frankly to me and I believe him.  Your words, also, are significant if they mean anything whatever.  I know well what is before me to-day,—­the chances of my never seeing you again.  I can only misjudge you in one respect.  Perhaps I can best make everything clear to your father as well as yourself by a single question.  If I do my duty through these troubles, Mr. Vosburgh being the judge, can you give me some place among those friends who have already, and justly, won your esteem?  I know it will require time.  I have given you far more cause for offence than you have given me, but I would be glad to fight to-day with the inspiration of hope rather than that of recklessness.”

Her lip trembled as she faltered:  “You would see that you have such a place already were you not equally prone to misjudge.  Do you think me capable of cherishing a petty spite after you had proved yourself the peer of my other friends?”

“That I have not done, and I fear I never can.  You have seen that I have been under a strong restraint which is not removed and which I cannot explain.  To wear, temporarily, a policeman’s uniform is probably the best I can hope for.”

“I was thinking of men, Mr. Merwyn, not uniforms.  I have nothing whatever to do with the restraint to which you refer.  If my father trusts you, I can.  Do not think of me so meanly as to believe I cannot give honest friendship to the man who is risking his life to aid my father.  Last evening you said I had been off my guard.  I must and will say, in self-defence, that if you judge me by that hour of weakness and folly you misjudge me.”

“Then we can be friends,” he said, holding out his hand, his face full of the sunshine of gladness.

“Why not?” she replied, laughing, and taking his hand,—­“that is, on condition that there is no more recklessness.”

Mr. Vosburgh rose and said, with a smile:  “Now that there is complete amity in the camp we will move on the enemy.  I shall go with you, Merwyn, to police-headquarters;” and he hastily began his preparation.