“I think your feelings are very natural, Miss Vosburgh, nor do I resent your censure.  You are surrounded by influences that lead you to think as you do.  You can scarcely judge for me, however.  Be fair and just.  I yield to you fully—­I may add, patiently—­the right to think, feel, and act as you think best.  Grant equal rights to me.”

“Oh, certainly,” she said, a little coldly; “each one must choose his own course for life.”

“That must ever be true,” he replied, “and it is well to remember that it is for life.  The present condition of affairs is temporary.  It is the hour of excited impulses rather than of cool judgment.  Ambitious men on both sides are furthering their own purposes at the cost of others.”

“Is that your idea of the war, Mr. Merwyn?” she asked, looking searchingly into his face.

“It is indeed, and time will prove me right, you will discover.”

“Since this is your view, I can scarcely wonder at your course,” she said, so quietly that he misunderstood her, and felt that she half conceded its reasonableness.  Then she changed the subject, nor did she revert to it in his society.

As August drew to its close, Marian’s circle shared the feverish solicitude felt in General Pope’s Virginia campaign.  Throughout the North there was a loyal response to the appeal for men, and Strahan’s company was nearly full.  He expected at any hour the orders which would unite the regiment at Washington.

One morning Mr. Lane came to say good-by.  It was an impressive hour which he spent with Marian when bidding her perhaps a final farewell.  She was pale, and her attempts at mirthfulness were forced and feeble.  When he rose to take his leave she suddenly covered her face with her hand, and burst into tears.

“Marian!” he exclaimed, eagerly, for the deep affection in his heart would assert itself at times, and now her emotion seemed to warrant hope.

“Wait,” she faltered.  “Do not go just yet.”

He took her unresisting hand and kissed it, while she stifled her sobs.

“Miss Marian,” he began, “you know how wholly I am yours—­”

“Please do not misunderstand me,” she interrupted.  “I scarcely know how I could feel differently if I were parting with my twin brother.  You have been such a true, generous friend!  Oh, I am all unstrung.  Papa has been sent for from Washington, and we don’t know when he’ll return or what service may be required of him.  I only know that he is like you, and will take any risk that duty seems to demand.  I have so learned to lean upon you and trust you that if anything happened—­well, I felt that I could go to you as a brother.  You are too generous to blame me that I cannot feel in any other way.  See, I am frank with you.  Why should I not be when the future is so uncertain?  Is it a little thing that I should think of you first and feel that I shall miss you most when I am so distraught with anxiety?”