“But you trust him now, papa?”

“Yes.”

Thus they talked until the clock struck eight, and Marian, growing pallid with anxiety and fear, went to the darkened parlor window to watch for Merwyn, then returned and looked at her father with something like dismay on her face.

Before he could speak, she exclaimed, “Ah! there is his ring;” and she rushed toward the door, paused, came back, and said, blushingly, “Papa, you had better admit him.”

Mr. Vosburgh smilingly complied.

The young fellow appeared in almost as bad a plight as when he had come in on Monday night and gone away with bitter words on his lips.  He was gaunt from fatigue and long mental strain.  His first words were:  “Thank God you we still all safe!  I had hoped to be here long before this, but so much has happened!”

“What!” exclained Marian, “anything worse than took place yesterday?”

“No, and yes.”  Then, with an appealing look; “Miss Marian, a cup of your good coffee.  I feel as if a rioter could knock me down with a feather.”

She ran to the kitchen herself to see that it was of the best possible quality, and Merwyn, sinking into a chair, looked gloomily at his host and said:  “We have made little if any progress.  The mob grows more reckless and devilish.”

“My dear fellow,” cried Mr. Vosburgh, “the Seventh Regiment will be here to-night, and others are on the way;” and he told of the reassuring tidings he had received.

“Thank Heaven for your news!  I have been growing despondent during the last few hours.”

“Take this and cheer up,” cried Marian.  “The idea of your being despondent!  You are only tired to death, and will have a larger appetite for fighting to-morrow, I fear, than ever.”

“No; I witnessed a scene this evening that made me sick of it all.  Of course I shall do my duty to the end, but I wish that others could finish it up.  More than ever I envy your friends who can fight soldiers;” and then he told them briefly of the scene witnessed in the rescue of Mammy Borden and her son.

“Oh, horrible! horrible!” exclaimed the girl.  “Where are they now?”

“I took them from headquarters to a hospital.  They both need the best surgical attention, though poor Zeb, I fear, is past help.”

“Merwyn,” said Mr. Vosburgh, gravely, “you incurred a fearful risk in taking those people through the streets.”

“I suppose so,” replied the young fellow, quietly; “but in a sense they were a part of your household, and the poor creatures were in such a desperate plight that—­”

“Mr. Merwyn,” cried Marian, a warm flush mantling her face, “you are a true knight.  You have perilled your life for the poor and humble.”

He looked at her intently a moment, and then said, quietly, “I would peril it again a thousand times for such words from you.”

To hide a sudden confusion she exclaimed:  “Great Heavens! what differences there are in men!  Those who would torture and kill these inoffensive people have human forms.”