“There, I won’t thank you in words,” said the elder man, wringing Merwyn’s hand.  “Will you do as I wish?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then lie down on the sofa in the front parlor and sleep while you can.  The least disturbance in the street would waken you there.  Marian will watch from an upper window and give you warning if anything occurs.  It is possible that I may be set upon when returning home, but I think not, for I shall enter the house from the rear;” and he told the young man of the means of exit which he had secured in case the house was attacked.  “Rather than permit my child to take any risks,” concluded the father, solemnly, “fly with her and the woman who will be her companion till I return.  Beyond the fact of general danger to all homes, she does not suspect anything, nor shall I increase her anxieties by telling her of my fears.  She will be vigilant on general principles.  Have you arms?”

“I have fired most of my cartridges to-day.”

“Well here is a revolver and a repeating rifle that you can depend upon.  Do you understand the latter weapon?”

“Yes, I have one like it.”

“I will now tell Marian of my plans, so far as it is wise for her to know them, and then, God help and protect us all!  Come, I wish you to lie down at once, for every moment of rest may be needed.”

When they descended, Mr. Vosburgh said to his daughter, laughingly, “Mr. Merwyn is under orders, and can have nothing more to say to you to-night.”

The young fellow, in like vein, brought the rifle to his shoulder, presented arms to her, wheeled, and marched to his station in the darkened front parlor.  Before lying down, however, he opened one blind for an outlook.

“Do you fear any special danger to-night, papa?” Marian asked, quickly.

“I have been expecting special dangers from the first,” replied her father, gently.  “While I must do my duty I shall also take such precautions as I can.  Merwyn will be your protector during my absence.  Now take your station at your upper window and do your part.”  He explained briefly what he expected of her.  “In case of an attack,” he concluded, almost sternly, “you must fly before it is too late.  I shall now go and prepare Mr. Erkmann for the possible emergency, and then go out through the basement door as usual, after giving our loyal German her directions.”

A few moments later he had departed, all were at their posts, and the house was quiet.

Merwyn felt the necessity of rest, for every bone in his body ached from fatigue; but he did not dream of the possibility of sleep.  His heart was swelling with pride and joy that he had become, not only the friend of the girl he loved, but also her trusted protector.

But at last Nature claimed her dues, and he succumbed and slept.

Mr. Vosburgh, unmolested, climbed to his lofty height of observation.  The great city lay beneath him with its myriad lights, but on Third Avenue, from 40th Street northward for a mile, there was a hiatus of darkness.  There the mob had begun, and there still dwelt its evil spirit uncurbed.  The rioters in that district had cut off the supply of gas, feeling, as did the French revolutionists, that “Light was not in order.”