“No,” said Mr. Vosburgh; “we will bring no more peril than we must on you.  Let us out into the street at once, and then bar and bolt everything.”

“But where can you go at this time?”

“To my house,” said Merwyn, firmly.  “Please do as Mr. Vosburgh asks.  It will be safest for all.”

“Well, since you will have it so.”

“Hasten, hasten,” Merwyn urged.

Mr. Erkmann unlatched the door and looked out.  The street was quiet and deserted, and the fugitives rushed away with whispered thanks.

“Marian, tie Riten’s apron over your head, so as to partially disguise your face,” said her father.

Fortunately they met but few people, and no crowds whatever.  As they approached Merwyn’s home his steps began to grow unsteady.

“Papa,” said Marian, in agitated tones, “Mr. Merwyn is wounded; he wants your support.”

“Merciful Heaven, Merwyn! are you wounded?”

“Yes, hasten.  I must reach home before giving out.”

When they gained his door he had to be almost carried up the steps, and Mr. Vosburgh rang the bell furiously.

Only a moment or two elapsed before the scared face of Thomas appeared, but as Merwyn crossed the threshold he fainted.

They carried him to his room, and then Mr. Vosburgh said, “Bring a physician and lose not a second.  Say it is a case of life and death.  Hold! first bring me some brandy.”

“Oh, oh!” Marian moaned, “I fear it’s death!  O papa he gave his life for you.”

“No, no,” was the hoarse response; “it cannot, shall not be.  It’s only a wound, and he has fainted from loss of blood.  Show your nerve now.  Moisten his lips with brandy.  You, Riten, chafe his wrists with it, while I cut open his shirt and stanch the wound.”

A second more and a terrible gash on Merwyn’s breast was revealed.  How deep it was they could not know.

Marian held out her handkerchief, and it was first used to stop the flow of blood.  When it was taken away she put it in her bosom.

The old servant, Margy, now rushed in with lamentations.

“Hush!” said Mr. Vosburgh, sternly.  “Chafe that other wrist with brandy.”

But the swoon was prolonged, and Marian, pallid to her lips, sighed and moaned as she did her father’s bidding.

Thomas was not very long in bringing a good physician, who had often attended the family.  Marian watched his face as if she were to read there a verdict in regard to her own life, and Mr. Vosburgh evinced scarcely less solicitude.

“His pulse certainly shows great exhaustion; but I cannot yet believe that it is a desperate case.  We must first tally him, and then I will examine his wound.  Mr. Vosburgh, lift him up, and let me see if I cannot make him swallow a little diluted brandy.”

At last Merwyn revived somewhat, but did not seem conscious of what was passing around him.  The physician made a hasty examination of the wound and said, “It is not so severe as to be fatal in itself, but I don’t like the hot, dry, feverish condition of his skin.”