“Why is it unreasonable?” she asked, her scornful self-control passing into something like passion.  “I will speak no more of the insult of your earlier motives towards me, now that you think you can afford to marry me.  In your young egotism you may think a girl forgets and forgives such a thing easily if bribed by a fortune.  I will let all that be as if it were not, and meet you on the ground of what is, at this present hour.  I despise you because you have no more mind or manhood—­take it as you will—­than to think that this struggle for national life and liberty is a mere passing fracas of politicians.  Do you think I will tamely permit you to call my noble father little better than a fool?  He has explained to me what this war means—­he, of twice your age, and with a mind as large as his manhood and courage.  You have assumed to be his superior, also, as well as that of Mr. Lane and Mr. Strahan, who are about to peril life in the ‘hurly-burly.’  What are your paltry thousands to me?  Should I ever love, I will love a man; and had I your sex and half your inches, I should this hour be in Virginia, instead of defending those I love and honor against your implied aspersions.  Had you your mother’s sentiments I should at least respect you, although she has no right to be here enjoying the protection of a government that she would destroy.”

He was as pale as she had become flushed, and again he passed his hand over his brow confusedly and almost helplessly.  “It is all like a horrid dream,” he muttered.

“Mr. Merwyn, you have brought this on yourself,” she said, more calmly.  “You have sought to wrong me in my own home.  Your words and manner have ever been an insult to the cause for which my father may die—­O God!” she exclaimed, with a cry of agony—­“for which he may now be dead!  Go, go,” she added, with a strong repellent gesture.  “We have nothing in common:  you measure everything with the inch-rule of self.”

As if pierced to the very soul he sprung forward and seized her hand with almost crushing force, as he cried:  “No, I measure everything hereafter by the breadth of your woman’s soul.  You shall not cast me off in contempt.  If you do you are not a woman,—­you are a fanatic, worse than my mother;” and he rushed from the house like one distraught.

Panting, trembling, frightened by a volcanic outburst such as she had never dreamed of, Marian sunk on a lounge, sobbing like a child.

CHAPTER XVI.

Awakened at last.

It may well be imagined that Mrs. Vosburgh was not far distant during the momentous interview described in the last chapter, and, as Merwyn rushed from the house as if pursued by the furies, she appeared at once on the scene, full of curiosity and dismay.