The young man soon lounged in, and threw himself into an easy chair.

His mother looked at him fixedly for a moment, and then asked, "Why is young Strahan in THAT uniform?"

"I didn't ask him," was the careless reply. "Obviously, however, because he has entered the service in some capacity."

"Did he not suggest that it would be a very proper thing for you to do, also?"

"Oh, of course. He wouldn't be Strahan if he hadn't. He has a high appreciation of a 'little brief authority,' especially if vested in himself. Believing himself to be so heroic he is inclined to call others to account."

"I trust you have rated such vaporings at their worth."

"I have not rated them at all. What do I care for little Strahan or his opinions? Nil."

"Shall you see much of him while we are compelled to remain in this detestable land?"

"More of him than of any one else, probably. We were boys together, and he amuses me. What is more to the point, if I make a Union officer my associate I disarm hostile criticism and throw an additional safeguard around my property. There is no telling to what desperate straits the Northern authorities may be reduced, and I don't propose to give them any grounds for confiscation."

"You are remarkably prudent, Willard, for a young man of Southern descent."

"I am of Northern descent also," he replied, with a light laugh. "Father was as strong a Northern man—so I imagine—as you are a Southern woman, and so, by a natural law, I am neutral, brought to a standstill by two equal and opposite forces."

The intense partisan looked at him with perplexity, and for a moment felt a strange and almost superstitious belief in his words. Was there a reciprocal relation of forces which would render her schemes futile? She shared in the secret hopes and ambitions of the Southern leaders. Had Northern and Southern blood so neutralized the heart of this youth that he was indifferent to both sections? and had she, by long residence abroad, and indulgence, made him so cosmopolitan that he merely looked upon the world as "his oyster"? She was not the first parent who, having failed to instil noble, natural principles in childhood, is surprised and troubled at the outcome of a mind developing under influences unknown or unheeded. That the South would be triumphant she never doubted a moment. It would not merely achieve independence, but also a power that would grow like the vegetation of its genial climate, and extend until the tapering Isthmus of Panama became the national boundary of the empire. But what part would be taken by this strange son who seemed equally endowed with graceful indolence and indomitable will? Were his tireless strength and energy to accomplish nothing better than the climbing of distant mountains? and would he maintain indifference towards a struggle for a dominion beyond Oriental dreams? Physically and mentally he seemed capable of doing what he chose; practically he chose to do what he pleased from hour to hour. Amusing himself with a languid, good-natured disregard of what he looked upon as trivial affairs, he was like adamant the moment a supreme and just advantage was his. He was her husband over agaim, with strange differences. What could she do at the present moment but the thing she proposed to do?

"Willard," she said, slowly, and in a voice that pierced his indifference, "have you any regard for me?"

"Certainly. Have I shown any want of respect?"

"That is not the question at all. You are young, Willard, and you live in the future. I live much in the past. My early home was in the South, where my family, for generations, has been eminent. Is it strange, then, that I should love that sunny land?"

"No, mamma."

"Well, all I ask at present is that you will promise me never, under any motive, to take up arms against that land of my ancestors."

"I have not the slightest disposition to do so."

"Willard, what to-day is, is. Neither you nor I know what shall be on the morrow. I never expected to marry a Northern man, yet I did so; nor should I regret it if I consulted my heart only. He was different from all his race. I did not foresee what was coming, or I could have torn my heart out before involving myself in these Northern complications. I cannot change the past, but I must provide for the future. O Willard, to your eyes your Northern fortune seems large. But a few years will pass before you will be shown what a trifle it is compared with the prizes of power and wealth that will be bestowed upon loyal Southerners. You have an ancestry, an ability, that would naturally place you among the foremost. Terrible as would be the sacrifice on my part, I could still give you my blessing if you imitated young Strahan in one respect, and devoted yourself heart, soul, and sword to our cause."

"The probable result would be that you and my sisters would be penniless, I sleeping in mud, and living on junk and hoe-cake. Another result, probable, only a little more remote, is that the buzzards would pick my bones. Faugh! Oh, no. I've settled that question, and it's a bore to think a question over twice. There are thousands of Americans in Europe. Their wisdom suits me until this tea-pot tempest is over. If any one doubts my courage I'll prove it fast enough, but, if I had my way, the politicians, North and South, should do their own fighting and starving."

"But, Willard, our leaders are not mere politicians. They are men of grand, far-reaching schemes, and when their plans are accomplished, they will attain regal power and wealth."

"Visions, mamma, visions. I have enough of my father's blood in my veins to be able to look at both sides of a question. Strahan asked me severely if I did not read the papers;" and he laughed lightly. "Well, I do read them, at least enough of them to pick out a few grains of truth from all the chaff. The North and South have begun fighting like two bull-dogs, and it's just a question which has the longer wind and the more endurance. The chances are all in favor of the North. I shall not throw myself and property away for the sake of a bare possibility. That's settled."

"Have you ice-water in your veins?" his mother asked, passionately.

"I have your blood, madam, and my father's, hence I am what I am."

"Well, then you must be a man of honor, of your word. Will you promise never to take arms against the South?"

"I have told you I have no disposition to do so."

"The promise, then, can cost you little, and it will be a relief to my mind."

"Oh, well, mamma, if it will make you feel any easier, I promise with one exception. Both South and North must keep their hands off the property my father gave me."

"If Southern leaders were dictating terms in New York City, as they will, ere long, they would never touch your property."

"They had better not."

"You know what I mean, Willard. I ask you never to assume this hated Northern uniform, or put your foot on Southern soil with a hostile purpose."

"Yes, I can promise that."

"Swear it to me then, by your mother's honor and your father's memory."

"Is not my word sufficient?"

"These things are sacred to me, and I wish them treated in a sacred manner. If you will do this my mind will be at rest and I may be able to do more for you in the future."

"To satisfy you, I swear never to put on the Northern uniform or to enter the South with a hostile purpose."

She stepped forward and touched his forehead with her lips, as she said: "The compact is sealed. Your oath is registered on earth and in heaven. Your simple word as a man of honor will satisfy me as to one other request. I wish you never to speak to any one of this solemn covenant between us."

"I'm not in the habit of gossiping over family affairs," he replied, haughtily.

"I know that, and also that your delicacy of feeling would keep you from speaking of a matter so sacred to me. But I am older and more experienced than you, and I shall feel safer if you promise. You would not gossip about it, of course. You might refer to it to some friend or to the woman who became your wife. I can foresee complications which might make it better that it should be utterly unknown. You little know how I dream and plan for you, and I only ask you never to speak of this interview and its character to a living soul."

"Certainly, mother, I can promise this. I should feel it small business to babble about anything which you take so to heart. These visions of empire occupy your mind and do no harm. I only hope you will meet your disappointment philosophically. Good-by now till lunch."

"Poor mamma!" thought the young man, as he started out for a walk; "she rails against Northern fanatics, forgetting tnat it is just possible to be a little fanatical on the Southern side of the line."

As he strode along in the sunshine his oath weighed upon him no more than if he had promised not to go out in his sail-boat that day.

At last, after surmounting a rather steep hill, he threw himself on the grass under the shade of a tree. "It's going to be awfully slow and stupid here," he muttered, "and it will be a month or two before we can return. I hoped to be back in time to join the Montagues in climbing Mont Blanc, and here I am tied up between these mole-hill mountains and city law-offices. How shall I ever get through with the time?"

A pony-phaeton, containing two ladies, appeared at the foot of the hill and slowly approached. His eyes rested on it in languid indifference, but, as it drew nearer, the younger of the two ladies fixed his attention. Her charming summer costume at first satisfied his taste, and, as her features became distinct, he was surprised at their beauty, as he thought at first; but he soon felt that animation redeemed the face from mere prettiness. The young girl was talking earnestly, but a sudden movement of the horse caused her to glance toward the road-side, and she encountered the dark eyes of a stranger. Her words ceased instantly. A slight frown contracted her brow, and, touching her horse with her whip, she passed on rapidly.

"By Jove! Strahan is right. If I have many such countrywomen in the neighborhood, I ought to find amusement."

He rose and sauntered after the phaeton, and saw that it turned in at a pretty little cottage, embowered in vines and trees. Making a mental note of the locality, he bent his steps in another direction, laughing as he thought: "From that one glance I am sure that those blue eyes will kindle more than one fellow before they are quenched. I wonder if Strahan knows her. Well, here, perhaps, is a chance for a summer lark. If Strahan is enamored I'd like to cut him out, for by all the fiends of dulness I must find something to do."

Strahan had accepted an invitation to lunch at the Vosburghs' that day, and arrived, hot and flushed, from his second morning's drill.

"Well!" he exclaimed, "I've seen the great Mogul."

"I believe I have also," replied Marian. "Has he not short and slightly curly hair, dark eyes, and an impudent stare?"

"I don't recognize the 'stare' exactly. Merwyn is polite enough in his way, and confound his way! But the rest of your description tallies. Where did you see him?"

She explained.

"That was he, accomplishing his usual day's work. O ye dogs of war! how I would like to have him in my squad one of these July days! Miss Marian, I'd wear your shoe-tie in my cap the rest of my life, if you would humble that fellow and make him feel that he never spoke to a titled lady abroad who had not her equal in some American girl. It just enrages me to see a New-York man, no better born than myself, putting on such superior and indifferent airs. If he'd come to me and say, 'Strahan, I'm a rebel, I'm going to fight and kill you if I can,' I'd shake hands with him as I did not to-day. I'd treat him like a jolly, square fellow, until we came face to face in a fair fight, and then—the fortune of war. As it was, I felt like taking him by the collar and shaking him out of his languid grace. He told me to mind my own business so politely that I couldn't take offence, although he gave scarcely any other reason than that he proposed to mind his. When I met his Southern mother on the piazza, she looked at me in my uniform at first as if I had been a toad. They are rebels at heart, and yet they stand aloof and sneer at the North, from which they derive protection and revenue. I made his eyes flash once though," chuckled the young fellow in conclusion.

Marian laughed heartily as she said: "Mr. Strahan, if you fight as well as you talk, I foresee Southern reverses. You have no idea how your indignation becomes you. 'As well-born,' did you say? Why, my good friend, you are worth a wilderness of such lackadaisical fellows. Ciphers don't count unless they stand after a significant figure; neither do such men, unless stronger men use them."

"Your arithmetic is at fault, Miss Marian. Ciphers do have the power of pushing a significant figure way back to the right of the decimal point, and, as a practical fact, these elegant human ciphers usually stand before good men and true in society. I don't believe it would be so with you, but few of us would stand a chance with most girls should this rich American, with his foreign airs and graces, enter the lists against us."

In her sincerity and earnestness, she took his hand and said: "I thank you for your tribute. You are right. Though this person had the wealth of the Indies, and every external grace, he could not be my friend unless he were a MAN. I've talked with papa a good deal, and believe there are men in the Southern army just as honest and patriotic as you are; but no cold-blooded, selfish betwixt-and-betweens shall ever take my hand."

"Make me a promise," cried Strahan, giving the hand he held a hearty and an approving shake.

"Well?"

"If opportunity offers, make this fellow bite the dust."

"We'll see about that. I may not think it worth the while, and I certainly shall not compromise myself in the slightest degree."

"But if I bring him here you will be polite to him?"

"Just about as polite as he was to you, I imagine."

"Miss Marian, I wouldn't have any harm come to you for the wide world. If—if anything should turn out amiss I'd shoot him, I certainly would."

The girl's only answer was a merry peal of laughter.



CHAPTER XII.

"A VOW."



BENT, as was Strahan, upon his scheme of disturbing Merwyn's pride and indifference, he resolved to permit several days to pass before repeating his call. He also, as well as Marian, was unwilling to compromise himself beyond a certain point, and it was his hope that he might receive a speedy visit. He was not disappointed, for on the ensuing day Merwyn sauntered up the Strahan avenue, and, learning that the young officer had gone to camp, followed him thither. The cold glance from the fair stranger in the phaeton dwelt in his memory, and he was pleased to find that it formed sufficient incentive to action.

Strahan saw him coming with a grim smile, but greeted him with off-hand cordiality. "Sorry, Merwyn," he said, "I can give you only a few moments before I go on duty."

"You are not on duty evenings?"

"Yes, every other evening."

"How about to-night?"

"At your service."

"Are you acquainted with the people who reside at a cottage—" and he described Marian's abode.

"Yes."

"Who are they?"

"Mr. Vosburgh has rented the place as a summer residence for his family. His wife and daughter are there usually, and he comes when he can.

"And the daughter's name?"

"Miss Marian Vosburgh."

"Will you introduce me to her?"

"Certainly."

"I sha'n't be poaching on your grounds, shall I?"

"Miss Vosburgh honors me with her friendship,—nothing more."

"Is it so great an honor?"

"I esteem it as such."

"Who are they, anyway?"

"Well, as a family I regard them as my equals, and Miss Marian as my superior."

"Oh come, Strahan, gossip about them a little."

The officer burst out laughing. "Well," he said, "for a man of your phenomenal reticence you are asking a good many questions."

Merwyn colored slightly and blundered: "You know my motive, Strahan; one does not care to make acquaintances that are not quite—" and then the expression of his host's eyes checked him.

"I assure you the Vosburghs are 'QUITE,'" Strahan said, coldly. "Did I not say they were my equals? You may esteem yourself fortunate if Miss Vosburgh ever permits you to feel yourself to be her equal."

"Why, how so?" a little irritably.

"Because if a man has brains and discernment the more he sees of her the more will he be inclined to doubt his equality."

Merwyn smiled in a rather superior way, and, with a light laugh, said: "I understand, Strahan. A man in your plight ought to feel in that way; at least, it is natural that he should. Now see here, old fellow, I'll keep aloof if you say so."

"Why should you? You have seen few society queens abroad who received so much and so varied homage as Miss Vosburgh. There are half a dozen fellows there, more or less, every evening, and you can take your chances among them."

"Oh, she's a bit of a coquette, then?"

"You must discover for yourself what she is," said the young man, buckling on his sword. "She has my entire respect."

"You quite pique my curiosity. I'll drive in for you this evening."

At the hour appointed, Strahan, in civilian's dress, stepped into Merwyn's carriage and was driven rapidly to the cottage. Throwing the reins to a footman, the young fellow followed the officer with a confidence not altogether well founded, as he soon learned. Many guests were present, and Lane was among them. When Merwyn was presented Marian was observed to bow merely and not give her hand, as was her custom when a friend of hers introduced a friend. Some of the residents in the vicinity exchanged significant smiles when they saw that the fastidious and exclusive Willard Merwyn had joined their circle. Mrs. Vosburgh, who was helping to entertain the guests, recognized nothing in his presence beyond a new social triumph for her daughter, and was very gracious. To her offices, as hostess, he found himself chiefly relegated for a time.

This suited him exactly, since it gave him a chance for observation; and certainly the little drawing-room, with its refined freedom, was a revelation to him. Conversation, repartee, and jest were unrestrained. While Lane was as gay as any present, Merwyn was made to feel that he was no ordinary man, and it soon came out in the natural flow of talk that he, too, was in the service. Merwyn was introduced also to a captain of the regular army, and, whatever be might think of these people, he instinctively felt that they would no more permit themselves to be patronized than would the sons of noble houses abroad. Indeed, he was much too adroit to attempt anything of the kind, and, with well-bred ease, made himself at home among them in general conversation.

Meanwhile, he watched Marian with increasing curiosity. To him she was a new and very interesting type. He had seen no such vivacity and freedom abroad, and his experience led him to misunderstand her. "She is of the genus American girl, middle class," he thought, "who, by her beauty and the unconventionality of her drawing-room, has become a quasi-belle. None of these men would think of marrying her, unless it is little Strahan, and he wouldn't five years hence. Yet she is piquant and fascinating after her style, a word and a jest for each and all, and spoken with a sort of good-comradeship, rather than with an if-you-please-sir air. I must admit, however, that there is nothing loud in tone, word, or manner. She is as delicate and refined as her own beauty, and, although this rather florid mamma is present as chaperon, the scene and the actors are peculiarly American. Well, I owe Strahan a good turn. I can amuse myself with this girl without scruple."

At last he found an opportunity to say, "We have met once before, I believe, Miss Vosburgh."

"Met? Where?"

"Where I was inclined to go to sleep, and you gave me such a charming frown that I awakened immediately and took a long ramble."

"I saw a person stretched at lazy length under the trees yesterday. You know the horror ladies have of intoxicated men on the road-side."

"Was that the impression I made? Thanks."

"The impression made was that we had better pass as quickly as possible."

"You made a very different impression. Thanks to Strahan I am here this evening in consequence, and am delighted that I came."

"'Delighted' is a strong word, Mr. Merwyn. Now that we are speaking of impressions, mine is that years have elapsed since you were greatly delighted at anything."

"What gives you such an impression?"

"Women can never account for their intuitions."

"Women? Do not use such an elderly word in regard to one appearing as if just entering girlhood."

"O Mr. Merwyn! have you not learned abroad that girls of my age are elderly indeed compared with men of yours?"

He bit his lip. "English girls are not so—"

"Fast?"

"I didn't say that. They certainly have not the vivacity and fascination that I am discovering in your drawing-room."

"Why, Mr. Merwyn! one would think you had come to America on a voyage of discovery, and were surprised at the first thing you saw."

"I think I could show you things abroad that would interest you."

"All Europe could not tempt me to go abroad at this time. In your estimation I am not even a woman,—only a girl, and yet I have enough girlhood to wish to take my little part in the events of the day."

He colored, but asked, quietly, "What part are you taking?"

"Such questions," she replied, with a merry, half-mocking flash of her eyes, "I answer by deeds. There are those who know;" and then, being addressed by Mr. Lane, she turned away, leaving him with confused, but more decided sensations than he had known for a long time.

His first impulse was to leave the house, but this course would only subject him to ridicule on the part of those who remained. After a moment or two of reflection he remembered that she had not invited him, and that she had said nothing essentially rude. He had merely chosen to occupy a position in regard to his country that differed radically from hers, and she had done little more than define her position.

"She is a Northern, as mamma is a Southern fanatic, with the difference that she is a young, effervescing creature, bubbling over with the excitement of the times," he thought. "That fellow in uniform, and the society of men like Strahan and Lane, haye turned her head, and she has not seen enough of life to comprehend a man of the world. What do I care for her, or any here? Her briery talk should only amuse me. When she learns more about who I am and what I possess she will be inclined to imitate her discreet mamma and think of the main chance; meanwhile I escape a summer's dulness and ennui;" and so he philosophically continued his observations and chatted with Mrs. Vosburgh and others until, with Strahan, he took his departure, receiving from Marian a bow merely, while to Strahan she gave her hand cordially.

"You seem to be decidedly in Miss Vosburgh's good graces," said Merwyn, as they drove away.

"I told you she was my friend."

"Is it very difficult to become her friend?"

"Well, that depends. You should not find it difficult, since you are so greatly my superior."

"Oh, come, Strahan."

"Pardon me, I forgot I was to express only my own thoughts, not yours."

"You don't know my thoughts or circumstances. Come now, let us be good comrades. I will begin by thanking you cordially for introducing me to a charming young girl. I am sure I put on no airs this evening."

"They would not have been politic, Merwyn, and, for the life of me, I can see no reason for them."

"Very well. Therefore you didn't see any. How like old times we are! We were always together, yet always sparring a little."

"You must take us as we are in these times," said Strahan, with a light laugh, for he felt it would jeopardize his scheme, or hope rather, if he were too brusque with his companion. "You see it is hard for us to understand your cosmopolitan indifference. American feeling just now is rather tense on both sides of the line, and if you will recognize the fact you will understand us better."

"I think I am already aware of the fact. If Miss Vosburgh were of our sex you would soon have another recruit."

"I'd soon have a superior officer, you mean."

"I fancy you are rather under her thumb already."

"It's a difficult position to attain, I assure you."

"How so?"

"I have observed that, towards a good many, Miss Vosburgh is quite your equal in indifference."

"I like her all the better for that fact."

"So do I."

"How is it that you are so favored?"

"No doubt it seems strange to you. Mere caprice on her part, probably."

"You misunderstand me. I would like to learn your tactics."

"Jove! I'd like to teach you. Come down to-morrow and I'll give you a musket."

"You are incorrigible, Strahan. Do you mean that her good-will can be won only at the point of the bayonet?"

"No one coached me. Surely you have not so neglected your education abroad that you do not know how to win a lady's favor."

"You are a neutral, indeed."

"I wouldn't aid my own brother in a case of this kind."

"You are right; in matters of this kind it is every one for himself. You offered to show me, a stranger, some attention, you know."

"Yes, Merwyn, and I'll keep my word. I will give you just as good courtesy as I receive. The formalities have been complied with and you are acquainted with Miss Vosburgh. You have exactly the same vantage that I had at the start, and you certainly cannot wish for more. If you wish for further introductions, count on me."

Merwyn parted from his plain-spoken companion, well content. Strahan's promise to return all the courtesy he received left a variable standard in Merwyn's hands that he could employ according to circumstances or inclination. He was satisfied that his neighbor, in accordance with a trait very common to young men, cherished for Miss Vosburgh a chivalric and sentimental regard at which he would smile when he became older. Merwyn, however, had a certain sense of honor, and would not have attempted deliberately to supplant one to whom he felt that he owed loyalty. His mind having been relieved of all scruples of this character, he looked forward complacently to the prospect of winning—what? He did not trouble himself to define the kind of regard he hoped to inspire. The immediate purpose to kill time, that must intervene before he could return to England, was sufficient. There was promise of occupation, mild excitement, and an amusing triumph, in becoming the foremost figure in Marian's drawing-room.

There is scarcely need to dwell upon the events of a few subsequent weeks and the gradual changes that were taking place. Life with its small vicissitudes rarely results from deliberate action. Circumstances, from day to day, color and shape it; yet beneath the rippling, changing surface a great tide may be rising. Strahan was succeeding fairly well in his recruiting service, and, making allowances for his previous history, was proving an efficient officer. Marian was a loyal, steadfast friend, reprimanding with mirthful seriousness at times, and speaking earnest and encouraging words at others. After all, the mercurial young fellow daily won her increased respect and esteem. He had been promoted to a captaincy, and such was the response of the loyal North, during that dreary summer of disaster and confused counsels, that his company was nearly full, and he was daily expecting orders for departure. His drill ground had become the occasional morning resort of his friends, and each day gave evidence of improved soldierly bearing in his men.

Merwyn thus far had characteristically carried out his plans to "kill time." Thoroughly convinced of his comparative superiority, he had been good-naturedly tolerant of the slow recognition accorded to it by Marian. Yet he believed he was making progress, and the fact that her favor was hard to win was only the more incitement. If she had shown early and decided preference his occupation would have been gone; for what could he have done in those initiatory weeks of their acquaintance if her eyes and tones had said, "I am ready to take you and your wealth"? The attitude she maintained, although little understood, awakened a kind of respect, while the barriers she quietly interposed aroused a keener desire to surmount them. By hauteur and reserve at times he had made those with whom he associated feel that his position in regard to the civil conflict was his own affair. Even Marian avoided the subject when talking with him, and her mother never thought of mentioning it. Indeed, that thrifty lady would have been rather too encouraging had not her daughter taken pains to check such a spirit. At the same time the young girl made it emphatically understood that discussion of the events of the war should be just as free when he was present as when he was absent.

Yet in a certain sense he was making progress, in that he awakened anger on her part, rather than indifference. If she was a new type to him so was he to her, and she found her thoughts reverting to him in hostile analysis of his motives and character. She had received too much sincere homage and devotion not to detect something cynical and hollow in his earlier attentions. She had seen glances toward her mother, and had caught in his tones an estimate which, however true, incensed her greatly. Her old traits began to assert themselves, and gradually her will accorded with Strahan's hope. If, without compromising herself, she could humble this man, bringing him to her feet and dismissing him with a rather scornful refusal, such an exertion of power would give her much satisfaction. Yet her pride, as well as her principle, led her to determine that he should sue without having received any misleading favor on her part.

Merwyn had never proposed to sue at all, except in the way of conventional gallantry. For his own amusement he had resolved to become her most intimate and familiar friend, and then it would be time to go abroad. If false hopes were raised it would not much matter; Strahan or some one else would console her. He admitted that his progress was slow, and her reserve hard to combat. She would neither drive nor sail with him unless she formed one of a party. Still in this respect he was on the same footing with her best friends. One thing did trouble him, however; she had never given him her hand, either in greeting or in parting.

At last he brought about an explanation that disturbed his equanimity not a little. He had called in the morning, and she had chatted charmingly with him on impersonal matters, pleasing him by her intelligent and gracefully spoken ideas on the topics broached. As a society girl she met him on this neutral ground without the slightest restraint or embarrassment. As he also talked well she had no scruple in enjoying a pleasure unsought by herself, especially as it might lead to the punishment which she felt that he deserved. Smilingly she had assured herself, when he was announced, "If he's a rebel at heart, as I've been told, I've met the enemy before either Mr. Lane or Mr. Strahan."

When Merwyn rose to take his leave he held out his hand and said: "I shall be absent two or three days. In saying good-by won't you shake hands?"

She laughingly put her hands behind her back and said, "I can't."

"Will not, you mean?"

"No, I cannot. I've made a vow to give my hand only to my own friends and those of my country."

"Do you look upon me as an enemy?"

"Oh, no, indeed."

"Then not as a friend?"

"Why, certainly not, Mr. Merwyn. You know that you are not my friend. What does the word mean?"

"Well," said he, flushing, "what does it mean?"

"Nothing more to me than to any other sincere person. One uses downright sincerity with a friend, and would rather harm himself than that friend."

"Why is not this my attitude towards you?"

"You, naturally, should know better than I."

"Indeed, Miss Vosburgh, you little know the admiration you have excited," he said, gallantly.

An inscrutable smile was her only response.

"That, however, has become like the air you breathe, no doubt."

"Not at all. I prize admiration. What woman does not? But there are as many kinds of admiration as there are donors."

"Am I to infer that mine is of a valueless nature?"

"Ask yourself, Mr. Merwyn, just what it is worth."

"It is greater than I have ever bestowed upon any one else," he said, hastily; for this tilt was disturbing his self-possession.

Again she smiled, and her thought was, "Except yourself."

He, thinking her smile incredulous, resumed: "You doubt this?"

"I cannot help thinking that you are mistaken."

"How can I assure you that I am not?"

"I do not know. Why is it essential that I should be so assured?"

He felt that he was being worsted, and feared that she had detected the absence of unselfish good-will and honest purpose toward her. He was angry with himself and her because of the dilemma in which he was placed. Yet what could he say to the serene, smiling girl before him, whose unflinching blue eyes looked into his with a keenness of insight that troubled him? His one thought now was to achieve a retreat in which he could maintain the semblance of dignity and good breeding.

With a light and deferential laugh he said: "I am taught, unmistakably, Miss Vosburgh, that my regard, whatever it may be, is of little consequence to you, and that it would be folly for me to try to prove a thing that would not interest you if demonstrated. I feel, however, that one question is due to us both,—Is my society a disagreeable intrusion?"

"If it had been, Mr. Merwyn, you would have been aware of the fact before this. I have enjoyed your conversation this morning."

"I hope, then, that in the future I can make a more favorable impression, and that in time you will give me your hand."

Her blue eyes never left his face as he spoke, and they grew dark with a meaning that perplexed and troubled him. She merely bowed gravely and turned away.

Never had his complacency been so disturbed. He walked homeward with steps that grew more and more rapid, keeping pace with his swift, perturbed thoughts. As he approached his residence he yielded to an impulse; leaped a wall, and struck out for the mountains.



CHAPTER XIII.

A SIEGE BEGUN.



"EITHER she is seeking to enhance her value, or else she is not the girl I imagined her to be at all," was Willard Merwyn's conclusion as he sat on a crag high upon the mountain's side. "Whichever supposition is true, I might as well admit at once that she is the most fascinating woman I ever met. She IS a woman, as she claims to be. I've seen too many mere girls not to detect their transparent deceits and motives at once. I don't understand Marian Vosburgh; I only half believe in her, but I intend to learn whether there is a girl in her station who would unhesitatingly decline the wealth and position that I can offer. Not that I have decided to offer these as yet, by any means, for I am in a position to marry wealth and rank abroad; but this girl piques my curiosity, stirs my blood, and is giving wings to time. At this rate the hour of our departure may come before I am ready for it. I was mistaken in one respect the first evening I met her. Lane, as well as Strahan and others, would marry her if they could. She might make her choice from almost any of those who seek her society, and she is not the pretty little Bohemian that I imagined. Either none of them has ever touched her heart, or else she knows her value and vantage, and she means to make the most of them. If she knew the wealth and position I could give her immediately, would not these certainties bring a different expression into her eyes? I am not an ogre, that she should shrink from me as the only incumbrance."

Could he have seen the girl's passion after he left her he would have understood her dark look at their parting. Hastily seeking her own room she locked the door to hide the tears of anger and humiliation that would come.

"Well," she cried, "I AM punished for trifling with others. Here is a man who seeks me in my home for no other purpose than his own amusement and the gratification of his curiosity. He could not deny it when brought squarely to the issue. He could not look me in the eyes and say that he was my honest friend. He would flirt with me, if he could, to beguile his burdensome leisure; but when I defined what some are to me, and more would be, if permitted, he found no better refuge than gallantry and evasion. What can he mean? what can he hope except to see me in his power, and ready to accept any terms he may choose to offer? O Arthur Strahan! your wish now is wholly mine. May I have the chance of rejecting this man as I never dismissed one before!"

It must not be supposed that Willard's frequent visits to the Vosburgh cottage had escaped Mrs. Merwyn's vigilant solicitude, but her son spoke of them in such a way that she obtained the correct impression that he was only amusing himself. Her chief hope was that her son would remain free until the South had obtained the power it sought. Then an alliance with one of the leading families in the Confederacy would accomplish as much as might have resulted from active service during the struggle. She had not hesitated to express this hope to him.

He had smiled, and said: "One of the leading theories of the day is the survival of the fittest. I am content to limit my theory to a survival. If I am alive and well when your great Southern empire takes the lead among nations there will be a chance for the fulfilment of your dream. If I have disappeared beneath Southern mud there won't be any chance. In my opinion, however, I should have tenfold greater power with our Southern friends if I introduced to them an English heiress."

His mother had sighed and thought: "It is strange that this calculating boy should be my son. His father was self-controlled and resolute, but he never manifested such cold-blooded thought of self, first and always."

She did not remember that the one lesson taught him from his very cradle had been that of self-pleasing. She had carried out her imperious will where it had clashed with his, and had weakly compensated him by indulgence in the trifles that make up a child's life. SHE had never been controlled or made to yield to others in thoughtful consideration of their rights and feelings, and did not know how to instil the lesson; therefore—so inconsistent is human nature—when she saw him developing her own traits, she was troubled because his ambitions differed from her own. Had his hopes and desires coincided with hers he would have been a model youth in her eyes, although never entertaining a thought beyond personal and family advantage. Apparently there was a wider distinction between them, for she was capable of suffering and sacrifice for the South. The possibilities of his nature were as yet unrevealed.

His course and spirit, however, set her at rest in regard to his visits to Marian Vosburgh, and she felt that there was scarcely the slightest danger that he would compromise himself by serious attentions to the daughter of an obscure American official.

Willard returned from his brief absence, and was surprised at his eager anticipation of another interview with Marian. He called the morning after his arrival, and learning that she had just gone to witness a drill of Strahan's company, he followed, and arrived almost as soon as she did at the ground set apart for military evolutions.

He was greeted by Marian in her old manner, and by Strahan in his off-hand way. The young officer was at her side, and a number of ladies and gentlemen were present as spectators. Merwyn took a camp-stool, sat a little apart, and nonchalantly lighted a cigar.

Suddenly there was a loud commotion in the guard-house, accompanied by oaths and the sound of a struggle. Then a wild figure, armed with a knife, rushed toward Strahan, followed by a sergeant and two or three privates. At a glance it was seen to be the form of a tall, powerful soldier, half-crazed with liquor.

"—you!" exclaimed the man; "you ordered me to be tied up. I'll larn you that we ain't down in Virginny yet!" and there was reckless murder in his bloodshot eyes.

Although at that moment unarmed, Strahan, without a second's hesitation, sprung at the man's throat and sought to catch his uplifted hand, but could not reach it. The probabilities are that the young officer's military career would have been ended in another second, had not Merwyn, without removing his cigar from his mouth, caught the uplifted arm and held it as in a vise.

"Stand back, Strahan," he said, quietly; but the young fellow would not loosen his hold. Therefore Merwyn, with his left hand upon the collar of the soldier, jerked him a yard away, and tripped him up so that he fell upon his face. Twisting the fellow's hands across his back, Merwyn said to the sergeant, "Now tie him at your leisure."

This was done almost instantly, and the foul mouth was also stopped by a gag.

Merwyn returned to his camp-stool, and coolly removed the cigar from his mouth as he glanced towards Marian. Although white and agitated, she was speaking eager, complimentary, and at the same time soothing words to Strahan, who, in accordance with his excitable nature, was in a violent passion. She did not once glance towards the man who had probably saved her friend's life, but Strahan came and shook hands with him cordially, saying: "It was handsomely and bravely done, Merwyn. I appreciate the service. You ought to be an officer, for you could make a good one,—a better one than I am, for you are as cool as a cucumber."

Others, also, would have congratulated Merwyn had not his manner repelled them, and in a few moments the drill began. Long before it was over Marian rose and went towards her phaeton. In a moment Merwyn was by her side.

"You are not very well, Miss Vosburgh," he said. "Let me drive you home."

She bowed her acquiescence, and he saw that she was pale and a little faint; but by a visible effort she soon rallied, and talked on indifferent subjects.

At last she said, abruptly: "I am learning what war means. It would seem that there is almost as much danger in enforcing discipline on such horrible men as in facing the enemy."

"Of course," said Merwyn, carelessly. "That is part of the risk."

"Well," she continued, emphatically, "I never saw a braver act than that of Mr. Strahan. He was unarmed."

"I was also!" was the somewhat bitter reply, "and you did not even thank me by a look for saving your friend from a bad wound to say the least."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Merwyn, you were armed with a strength which made your act perfectly safe. Mr. Strahan risked everything."

"How could he help risking everything? The infuriated beast was coming towards you as well as him. Could he have run away? You are not just to me, or at least you are very partial"

"One can scarcely help being partial towards one's friends. I agree with you, however; Mr. Strahan could not have taken any other course. Could you, with a friend in such peril?"

"Certainly not, with any one in such peril. Let us say no more about the trifle."

She was silent a moment, and then said, impetuously: "You shall not misunderstand me. I don't know whether I am unjust or not. I do know that I was angered, and cannot help it. You may as well know my thoughts. Why should Mr. Strahan and others expose themselves to such risks and hardships while you look idly on, when you so easily prove yourself able to take a man's part in the struggle? You may think, if you do not say it, that it is no affair of mine; but with my father, whom I love better than life, ready at any moment to give his life for a cause, I cannot patiently see utter indifference to that cause in one who seeks my society."

"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?"

"No, Miss Marian. To me it is a sacred thing. I want you to know that you have a brother's hand and heart at your disposal."

"I believe you. Come," she added, rising and dashing away her tears, "I must be brave, as you are. Promise me that you will take no risks beyond those required by duty, and that you will write to me."

"Marian," he said, in a low, deep voice, "I shall ever try to do what, in your heart, you would wish. You must also promise that if you are ever in trouble you will let me know."

"I promise."

He again kissed her hand, like a knight of the olden time.

At the last turn of the road from which he was visible she waved her handkerchief, then sought her room and burst into a passion of tears.

"Oh," she sobbed, "as I now feel I could not refuse him anything. I may never see him again, and he has been so kind and generous!"

The poor girl was indeed morbid from excitement and anxiety. Her pale face began to give evidence of the strain which the times imposed on her in common with all those whose hearts had much at stake in the conflict.

In vain her mother remonstrated with her, and told her that she was "meeting trouble half-way." Once the sagacious lady had ventured to suggest that much uncertainty might be taken out of the future by giving more encouragement to Mr. Merwyn. "I am told that he is almost a millionnaire in his own right," she said.

"What is he in his own heart and soul?" had been the girl's indignant answer. "Don't speak to me in that way again, mamma."

Meanwhile Merwyn was a close observer of all that was taking place, and was coming to what he regarded as an heroic resolution. Except as circumstances evoked an outburst of passion, he yielded to habit, and coolly kept his eye on the main chances of his life, and these meant what he craved most.

Two influences had been at work upon his mind during the summer. One resulted from his independent possession of large property. He had readily comprehended the hints thrown out by his lawyer that, if he remained in New York, the times gave opportunity for a rapid increase in his property, and the thought of achieving large wealth for himself, as his father had done before him, was growing in attractiveness. His indolent nature began to respond to vital American life, and he asked himself whether fortune-making in his own land did not promise more than fortune-seeking among English heiresses; moreover, he saw that his mother's devotion to the South increased daily, and that feeling at the North was running higher and becoming more and more sharply defined. As a business man in New York his property would be safe beyond a doubt, but if he were absent and affiliating with those known to be hostile to the North, dangerous complications might arise.

Almost unconsciously to himself at first the second influence was gaining daily in power. As he became convinced that Marian was not an ordinary girl, ready for a summer flirtation with a wealthy stranger, he began to give her more serious thought, to study her character, and acknowledge to himself her superiority. With every interview the spell of her fascination grew stronger, until at last he reached the conclusion which he regarded as magnanimous indeed. Waiving all questions of rank and wealth on his part he would become a downright suitor to this fair countrywoman. It did not occur to him that he had arrived at his benign mood by asking himself the question, "Why should I not please myself?" and by the oft-recurring thought: "If I marry rank and wealth abroad the lady may eventually remind me of her condescension. If I win great wealth here and lift this girl to my position she will ever be devoted and subservient and I be my own master. I prefer to marry a girl that pleases me in her own personality, one who has brains as well as beauty. When these military enthusiasts have disappeared below the Southern horizon, and time hangs more heavily on her hands, she will find leisure and thought for me. What is more, the very uncertainties of her position, with the advice of her prudent mamma, will incline her to the ample provision for the future which I can furnish."

Thus did Willard Merwyn misunderstand the girl he sought, so strong are inherited and perverted traits and lifelong mental habits. He knew how easily, with his birth and wealth, he could arrange a match abroad with the high contracting powers. Mrs. Vosburgh had impressed him as the chief potentate of her family, and not at all averse to his purpose. He had seen Mr. Vosburgh but once, and the quiet, reticent man had appeared to be a second-rate power. He had also learned that the property of the family was chiefly vested in the wife. Of course, if Mr. Vosburgh had been in the city, Merwyn would have addressed him first, but he was absent and the time of his return unknown.

The son knew his mother would be furious, but he had already discounted that opposition. He regarded this Southern-born lady as a very unsafe guide in these troublous times. Indeed, he cherished a practical kind of loyalty to her and his sisters.

"Only as I keep my head level," he said to himself, "are they safe. Mamma would identify herself with the South to-day if she could, and with a woman's lack of foresight be helpless on the morrow. Let her dream her dreams and nurse her prejudices. I am my father's son, and the responsible head of the family; and I part with no solid advantage until I receive a better one. I shall establish mamma and the girls comfortably in England, and then return to a city where I can soon double my wealth and live a life independent of every one."

This prospect grew to be so attractive that he indulged, like Mr. Lanniere, in King Cophetua's mood, and felt that one American girl was about to become distinguished indeed.

Watching his opportunity he called upon Mrs. Vosburgh while Marian was out of the way, formally asking her, in her husband's absence, for permission to pay his addresses; and he made known his financial resources and prospects with not a little complacent detail.

Mrs. Vosburgh was dignified and gracious, enlarged on her daughter's worth, hinted that she might be a little difficult to win by reason of the attentions she had received and her peculiar views, yet left, finally, the impression that so flattering proposals could not be slighted.

Merwyn went home with a sigh of relief. He would no longer approach Marian with doubtful and ill-defined intentions, which he believed chiefly accounted for the clever girl's coldness towards him.



CHAPTER XIV.

OMINOUS.



SUBORDINATE only to her father and two chief friends, in Marian's thoughts, was her enemy, for as such she now regarded Willard Merwyn. She had felt his attentions to be humiliating from the first. They had presented her former life, in which her own amusement and pleasure had been her chief thought, in another and a very disagreeable light. These facts alone would have been sufficient to awaken a vindictive feeling, for she was no saint. In addition, she bitterly resented his indifference to a cause made so dear by her father's devotion and her friends' brave self-sacrifice. Whatever his motive might be, she felt that he was cold-blooded, cowardly, or disloyal, and such courtesy as she showed him was due to little else than the hope of inflicting upon him some degree of humiliation. She had seen too many manifestations of honest interest and ardent love to credit him with any such emotion, and she had no scruples in wounding his pride to the utmost.

Meanwhile events in the bloody drama of the war were culminating. The Union officers were thought to have neither the wisdom to fight at the right time nor the discretion to retreat when fighting was worse than useless. In consequence thousands of brave men were believed by many to have died in vain once more on the ill-fated field of Bull Run.

One morning, the last of August, Strahan galloped to the Vosburgh cottage and said to Marian, who met him at the door: "Orders have come. I have but a few minutes in which to say good-by. Things have gone wrong in Virginia, and every available man is wanted in Washington."

His flushed face was almost as fair as her own, and gave him a boyish aspect in spite of his military dress, but unhesitating resolution and courage beamed from his eyes.

"Oh, that I were a man!" Marian cried, "and you would have company. All those who are most to me will soon be perilling their lives."

"Guess who has decided to go with me almost at the last moment."

"Mr. Blauvelt?"

"Yes; I told him that he was too high-toned to carry a musket, but he said he would rather go as a private than as an officer. He wishes no responsibility, he says, and, beyond mere routine duty, intends to give all his time and thoughts to art. I am satisfied that I have you to thank for this recruit."

"Indeed, I have never asked him to take part in the war."

"No need of your asking any one in set terms. A man would have to be either a coward, or else a rebel at heart, like Merwyn, to resist your influence. Indeed, I think it is all the stronger because you do not use it openly and carelessly. Every one who comes here knows that your heart is in the cause, and that you would have been almost a veteran by this time were you of our sex. Others, besides Blauvelt, obtained the impulse in your presence which decided them. Indeed, your drawing-room has been greatly thinned, and it almost looks as if few would be left to haunt it except Merwyn."

"I do not think he will haunt it much longer, and I should prefer solitude to his society."

"Well," laughed Strahan, "I think you will have a chance to put one rebel to rout before I do. I don't blame you, remembering your feeling, but Merwyn probably saved my life, and I gave him my hand in a final truce. Friends we cannot be while he maintains his present cold reserve. As you told me, he said he would have done as much for any one, and his manner since has chilled any grateful regard on my part. Yet I am under deep obligations, and hereafter will never do or say anything to his injury."

"Don't trouble yourself about Mr. Merwyn, Arthur. I have my own personal score to settle with him. He has made a good foil for you and my other friends, and I have learned to appreciate you the more. YOU have won my entire esteem and respect, and have taught me how quickly a noble, self-sacrificing purpose can develop manhood. O Arthur, Heaven grant that we may all meet again! How proud I shall then be of my veteran friends! and of you most of all. You are triumphing over yourself, and you have won the respect of every one in this community."

"If I ever become anything, or do anything, just enter half the credit in your little note-book," he said, flushing with pleasure.

"I shall not need a note-book to keep in mind anything that relates to you. Your courage has made me a braver, truer girl. Arthur, please, you won't get reckless in camp? I want to think of you always as I think of you now. When time hangs heavy on your hands, would it give you any satisfaction to write to me?"

"Indeed it will," cried the young officer. "Let me make a suggestion. I will keep a rough journal of what occurs and of the scenes we pass through, and Blauvelt will illustrate it. How should you like that? It will do us both good, and will be the next best thing to running in of an evening as we have done here."

Marian was more than pleased with the idea. When at last Strahan said farewell, he went away with every manly impulse strengthened, and his heart warmed by the evidences of her genuine regard.

In the afternoon Blauvelt called, and, with Marian and her mother, drove to the station to take part in an ovation to Captain Strahan and his company. The artist had affairs to arrange in the city before enlisting, and proposed to enter the service at Washington.

The young officer bore up bravely, but when he left his mother and sisters in tears, his face was stern with effort. Marian observed, however, that his last glance from the platform of the cars rested upon herself. She returned home depressed and nervously excited, and there found additional cause for solicitude in a letter from her father informing her of the great disaster to Union arms which poor generalship had invited. This, as she then felt, would have been bad enough, but in a few tender, closing words, he told her that they might not hear from him in some time, as he had been ordered on a service that required secrecy and involved some danger. Mrs. Vosburgh was profuse in her lamentations and protests against her husband's course, but Marian went to her room and sobbed until almost exhausted.

Her nature, however, was too strong, positive, and unchastened to find relief in tears, or to submit resignedly. Her heart was full of bitterness and revolt, and her partisanship was becoming almost as intense as that of Mrs. Merwyn.

The afternoon closed with a dismal rain-storm, which added to her depression, while relieving her from the fear of callers. "O dear!" she exclaimed, as she rose from the mere form of supper, "I have both head-ache and heart-ache. I am going to try to get through the rest of this dismal day in sleep."

"Marian, do, at least, sit an hour or two with me. Some one may come and divert your thoughts."

"No one can divert me to-night. It seems as if an age had passed since we came here in June."

"Your father knows how alone we are in the world, with no near relatives to call upon. I think he owes his first duty to us."

"The men of the North, who are right, should be as ready to sacrifice everything as the men of the South, who are wrong; and so also should Northern women. I am proud of the fact that my father is employed and trusted by his government. The wrong rests with those who caused the war."

"Every man can't go and should not go. The business of the country must be carried on just the same, and rich business men are as important as soldiers. I only wish that, in our loneliness and with the future so full of uncertainty, you would give sensible encouragement to one abundantly able to give you wealth and the highest position."

"Mr. Merwyn?"

"Yes, Mr. Merwyn," continued her mother, with an emphasis somewhat irritable. "He is not an old, worn-out millionnaire, like Mr. Lanniere. He is young, exceedingly handsome, so high-born that he is received as an equal in the houses of the titled abroad. He has come to me like an honorable man, and asked for the privilege of paying his addresses. He would have asked your father had he been in town. He was frank about his affairs, and has just received, in his own name, a very large property, which he proposes to double by entering upon business in New York."

"What does his mother think of his intentions toward me?" the young girl asked, so quietly, that Mrs. Vosburgh was really encouraged.

"He says that he and his mother differ on many points, and will differ on this one, and that is all he seemed inclined to say, except to remark significantly that he had attained his majority."

"It was he whom you meant, when you said that some one might come who would divert my thoughts?"

"I think he would have come, had it not been for the storm."

"Mamma, you have not given him any encouragement? You have not compromised yourself, or me?"

Mrs. Vosburgh bridled with the beginnings of resentment, and said, "Marian, you should know me too well—"

"There, there, mamma, I was wrong to think of such a thing; I ask your pardon."

"I may have my sensible wishes and preferences," resumed the lady, complacently, "but I have never yet acted the role of the anxious, angling mamma. I cannot help wishing, however, that you would consider favorably an offer like this one, and I certainly could not treat Mr. Merwyn otherwise than with courtesy."

"That was right and natural of you, mamma. You have no controversy with Mr. Merwyn; I have. I hate and detest him. Well, since he may come, I shall dress and be prepared."

"O Marian! you are so quixotic!"

"Dear mamma, you are mistaken. Do not think me inconsiderate of you. Some day I will prove I am not by my marriage, if I marry;" and she went to her mother and kissed her tenderly.

Then by a sudden transition she drew herself up with the dark, inscrutable expression that was becoming characteristic since deeper experiences had entered into her life, and said, firmly:—

"Should I do as you suggest, I should be false to those true friends who have gone to fight, perhaps to die; false to my father; false to all that's good and true in my own soul. As to my heart," she concluded, with a contemptuous shrug, "that has nothing to do with the affair. Mamma, you must promise me one thing. I do not wish you to meet Mr. Merwyn to-night. Please excuse yourself if he asks for you. I will see him."

"Mark my words, Marian, you will marry a poor man."

"Oh, I have no objection to millionnaires," replied the girl, with a short, unmirthful laugh, "but they must begin their suit in a manner differing from that of two who have favored me;" and she went to her room.

As Merwyn resembled his deceased parent, so Marian had inherited not a little of her father's spirit and character. Until within the last few months her mother's influence had been predominant, and the young girl had reflected the social conventionalities to which she was accustomed. No new traits had since been created. Her increasing maturity had rendered her capable of revealing qualities inherent in her nature, should circumstances evoke them. The flower, as it expands, the plant as it grows, is apparently very different, yet the same. The stern, beautiful woman who is arraying herself before her mirror, as a soldier assumes his arms and equipments, is the same with the thoughtless, pleasure-loving girl whom we first met in her drawing-room in June; but months of deep and almost tragic experience have called into activity latent forces received from her father's soul,—his power of sustained action, of resolute purpose, of cherishing high ideals, and of white, quiet anger.

Her toilet was scarcely completed when Willard Merwyn was announced.



CHAPTER XV.

SCORN.



IT is essential that we should go back several hours in our story. On the morning of the day that witnessed the departure of Strahan and his company Merwyn's legal adviser had arrived and had been closeted for several hours with his client. Mr. Bodoin was extremely conservative. Even in youth he had scarcely known any leanings toward passion of any kind or what the world regards as folly. His training had developed and intensified natural characteristics, and now to preserve in security the property intrusted to his care through a stormy, unsettled period had become his controlling motive. He looked upon the ups and downs of political men and measures with what seemed to him a superior and philosophical indifference, and he was more than pleased to find in Merwyn, the son of his old client, a spirit so in accord with his own ideas.

They had not been very long together on this fateful day before he remarked: "My dear young friend, it is exceedingly gratifying to find that you are level-headed, like your father. He was a man, Willard, whom you do well to imitate. He secured what he wanted and had his own way, yet there was no nonsense about him. I was his intimate friend as well as legal adviser, and I know, perhaps, more of his life than any one else. Your mother, to-day, is the handsomest woman of her years I ever saw, but when she was of your age her beauty was startling, and she had almost as many slaves among the first young men of the South as there were darkies on the plantation, yet your father quietly bore her away from them all. What is more, he so managed as to retain her respect and affection to the last, at the same time never yielding an inch in his just rights or dignity, and he ever made Mrs. Merwyn feel that her just rights and dignity were equally sacred. Proud as your mother was, she had the sense to see that his course was the only proper one. Their marriage, my boy, always reminded me of an alliance between two sovereign and alien powers. It was like a court love-match abroad. Your father, a Northern man, saw the beautiful Southern heiress, and he sued as if he were a potentate from a foreign realm. Well-born and accustomed to wealth all his life, he matched her pride with a pride as great, and made his offer on his feet as if he were conferring as much as he should receive. That, in fact, was the only way to win a woman who had been bowed down to all her life. After marriage they lived together like two independent sovereigns, sometimes here, then in the city house, and, when Mrs. Merwyn so desired it, on the Southern plantation, or abroad. He always treated her as if she were a countess or a queen in her own right and paid the utmost deference to her Southern ideas, but never for a moment permitted her to forget that he was her equal and had the same right to his Northern views. In regard to financial matters he looked after her interests as if he were her prime minister, instead of a husband wishing to avail himself of anything. In his own affairs he consulted me constantly and together we planted his investments on the bed-rock. These reminiscences will enable you to understand the pleasure with which I recognize in you the same traits. Of course you know that the law gives you great power over your property. If you were inclined to dissipation, or, what would be little better in these times, were hot-headed and bent on taking part in this losing fight of the South, I should have no end of trouble."

"You, also, are satisfied, then, that it will be a losing fight?" Merwyn had remarked.

"Yes, even though the South achieves its independence. I am off at one side of all the turmoil, and my only aim is to keep my trusts safe, no matter who wins. I see things as they are up to date and not as I might wish them to be if under the influence of passion or prejudice. The South may be recognized by foreign powers and become a separate state, although I regard this as very doubtful. In any event the great North and West, with the immense tides of immigration pouring in, will so preponderate as to be overshadowing. The Southern empire, of which Mrs. Merwyn dreams, would dwindle rather than grow. Human slavery, right or wrong, is contrary to the spirit of the age. But enough of this political discussion. I only touch upon it to influence your action. By the course you are pursuing you not only preserve all your Northern property, but you will also enable me to retain for your mother and sisters the Southern plantation. This would be impossible if you were seeking 'the bubble, reputation, at the cannon's mouth' on either side. Whatever happens, there must still be law and government. Both sides will soon get tired of this exhausting struggle, and then those who survive and have been wise will reap the advantage. Now, as to your own affairs, the legal formalities are nearly completed. If you return and spend the winter in New York I can put you in the way of vastly increasing your property, and by such presence and business activity you will disarm all criticism which your mother's Southern relations may occasion."

"Mamma will bitterly oppose my return."

"I can only say that what I advise will greatly tend to conserve Mrs. Merwyn's interests. If you prefer, we can manage it in this way: after you have safely established your mother and sisters abroad I can write you a letter saying that your interests require your presence."

And so it had been arranged, and the old lawyer sat down to dinner with Mrs. Merwyn, paying her the courtly deference which, while it gratified her pride, was accepted as a matter of course—as a part of her husband's legacy. He had soon afterwards taken his departure, leaving his young client in a most complacent and satisfactory mood.

It may thus be seen that Merwyn was not an unnatural product of the influences which had until now guided his life and formed his character. The reminiscences of his father's friend had greatly increased his sense of magnanimity in his intentions towards Marian. In the overweening pride of youth he felt as if he were almost regally born and royally endowed, and that a career was opening before him in which he should prove his lofty superiority to those whose heads were turned by the hurly-burly of the hour. Young as he was, he had the sense to be in accord with wise old age, that looked beyond the clouds and storm in which so many would be wrecked. Nay, even more, from those very wrecks he would gather wealth.

"The time and opportunity for cool heads," he smilingly assured himself, "is when men are parting with judgment and reason."

Such was his spirit when he sought the presence of the girl whose soul was keyed up to almost a passion of self-sacrifice. His mind belittled the cause for which her idolized father was, at that moment, perilling his life, and to which her dearest friends had consecrated themselves. He was serene in congratulating himself that "little Strahan" had gone, and that the storm would prevent the presence of other interlopers.

Although the room was lighted as usual, he had not waited many moments before a slight chill fell upon his sanguine mood. The house was so still, and the rain dripped and the wind sighed so dismally without, that a vague presentiment of evil began to assert itself. Heretofore he had found the apartment full of life and mirth, and he could not help remembering that some who had been its guests might now be out in the storm. Would she think of this also?

The parlor was scarcely in its usual pretty order, and no flowers graced the table. Evidently no one was expected. "All the better," he assured himself; "and her desolation will probably incline her the more to listen to one who can bring golden gleams on such a dreary night."

A daily paper, with heavy headlines, lay on a chair near him. The burden of these lines was DEFEAT, CARNAGE, DEATH.

They increased the slight chill that was growing upon him, and made him feel that possibly the story of his birth and greatness which he had hoped to tell might be swallowed up by this other story which fascinated him with its horror.

A slight rustle caused him to look up, and Marian stood before him. Throwing aside the paper as if it were an evil spell, he rose, would have offered his hand had there been encouragement, but the girl merely bowed and seated herself as she said: "Good-evening, Mr. Merwyn. You are brave to venture out in such a storm."

Was there irony in the slight accent on the word "brave"? How singularly severe was her costume, also!—simple black, without an ornament. Yet he admitted that he had never seen her in so effective a dress, revealing, as it did, the ivory whiteness of her arms and neck.

"There is only one reason why I should not come this evening,—you may have hoped to escape all callers."

"It matters little what one hopes in these times," she said, "for events are taking place which set aside all hopes and expectations."

In her bitter mood she was impatient to have the interview over, so that she accomplished her purpose. Therefore she proposed, contrary to her custom with him, to employ the national tragedy, to which he was so indifferent, as one of her keenest weapons.

"It is quite natural that you should feel so, Miss Vosburgh, in regard to such hopes as you have thus far entertained—"

"Since they are the only hopes I know anything about, Mr. Merwyn, I am not indifferent to them. I suppose you were at the depot to see your friend, Mr. Strahan, depart?" and the question was asked with a steady, searching scrutiny that was a little embarrassing.

Indeed, her whole aspect produced a perplexed, wondering admiration, for she seemed breathing marble in her cold self-possession. He felt, however, that the explanation which he must give of his absence when so many were evincing patriotic good-will would enable him to impress her with the fact that he had superior interests at stake in which she might have a share.

Therefore he said, gravely, as if the reason were ample: "I should have been at the depot, of course, had not my legal adviser come up from town to-day and occupied me with very important business. Mr. Bodoin's time is valuable to him, and he presented, for my consideration, questions of vital interest. I have reached that age now when I must not only act for myself, but I also have very delicate duties to perform towards my mother and sisters."

"Mr. Strahan had a sad duty to perform towards his mother and sisters,—he said good-by to them."

"A duty which I shall soon have to perform, also," Merwyn said.

She looked at him inquiringly. Had he at last found his manhood, and did he intend to assert it? Had he abandoned his calculating policy, and was he cherishing some loyal purpose? If this were true and she had any part in his decision, it would be a triumph indeed; and, while she felt that she could never respond to any such proposition as he had made through her mother, she could forget the past and give him her hand in friendly encouragement towards such a career as Lane and Strahan had chosen. She felt that it would be well not to be over-hasty in showing resentment, but if possible to let him reveal his plans and character fully. She listened quietly, therefore, without show of approval or disapproval, as he began in reply to her questioning glance.

"I am going to be frank with you this evening, Miss Vosburgh. The time has come when I should be so. Has not Mrs. Vosburgh told you something of the nature of my interview with her?"

The young girl merely bowed.

"Then you know how sincere and earnest I am in what—in what I shall have to say."

To his surprise he felt a nervous trepidation that he would not have imagined possible in making his magnanimous offer. He found this humble American girl more difficult to approach than any other woman he had ever met.

"Miss Vosburgh," he continued, hesitatingly, "when I first entered this room I did not understand your true worth and superiority, but a sense of these has been growing on me from that hour to this. Perhaps I was not as sincere as I—I—should have been, and you were too clever not to know it. Will you listen to me patiently?"

Again she bowed, and lower this time to conceal a slight smile of triumph.

Encouraged, he proceeded: "Now that I have learned to know you well, I wish you to know me better,—to know all about me. My father was a Northern man with strong Northern traits; my mother, a Southern woman with equally strong Southern traits. I have been educated chiefly abroad. Is it strange, then, that I cannot feel exactly as you do, or as some of your friends do?"

"As we once agreed, Mr. Merwyn, each must choose his own course for life."

"I am glad you have reminded me of that, for I am choosing for life and not for the next ten months or ten years. As I said, then, all this present hurly-burly will soon pass away." Her face darkened, but in his embarrassment and preoccupation he did not perceive it. "I have inherited a very large property, and my mother's affairs are such that I must act wisely, if not always as she would wish."

"May I ask what Mrs. Merwyn would prefer?"

"I am prepared to be perfectly frank about myself," he replied, hesitatingly, "but—"

"Pardon me. It is immaterial."

"I have a perfect right to judge and act for myself," resumed Merwyn, with some emphasis.

"Thank you. I should remember that."

The words were spoken in a low tone and almost as if in soliloquy, and her face seemed to grow colder and more impassive if possible.

With something approaching dismay Merwyn had observed that the announcement of his large fortune had had no softening influence on the girl's manner, and he thought, "Truly, this is the most dreary and business-like wooing that I ever imagined!"

But he had gone too far to recede, and his embarrassment was beginning to pass into something like indignation that he and all he could offer were so little appreciated.

Restraining this feeling, he went on, gravely and gently: "You once intimated that I was young, Miss Vosburgh, yet the circumstances and responsibilities of my lot have led me to think more, perhaps, than others of my age, and to look beyond the present hour. I regard the property left me by my father as a trust, and I have learned to-day that I can greatly increase and probably double it. It is my intention, after taking my mother and sisters abroad, to return to New York and to enter cautiously into business under the guidance of my legal adviser, who is a man of great sagacity. Now, as you know, I have said from the first that it is natural for you to feel deeply in regard to the events of the day; but I look beyond all this turmoil, distraction, and passion, which will be as temporary as it is violent. I am thinking for you as truly as for myself. Pardon me for saying it; I am sure I am in a better condition of mind to think for you than you are to judge for yourself. I can give you the highest social position, and make your future a certainty. From causes I can well understand the passion of the hour has been swaying you—"

She rose, and by an emphatic gesture stopped him, and there was a fire in the blue eyes that had been so cold before. She appeared to have grown inches as she stood before him and said, in tones of concentrated scorn: "You are indeed young, yet you speak the calculating words of one so old as to have lost every impulse of youth. Do you know where my father is at this moment?"

"No," he faltered.

"He is taking part, at the risk of his life, in this temporary hurly-burly, as you caricature it. It is he who is swaying me, and the memory of the brave men whom you have met here and to whom you fancied yourself superior. Did not that honored father exist, or those brave friends, I feel within my soul that I have womanhood enough to recognize and feel my country's need in this supreme hour of her peril. You thoughtful beyond your years?—you think for me? What did you think of me the first evening you spent here? What were your thoughts as you came again and again? To what am I indebted for this honor, but the fact that you could only beguile a summer's ennui by a passing flirtation which would leave me you little cared where, after you had joined your aristocratic friends abroad? Now your plans have changed, and, after much deliberation, you have come to lift me to the highest position! Never dream that I can descend to your position!"

He was fairly trembling with anger and mortification, and she was about to leave the apartment.

"Stay!" he said, passing his hand across his brow as if to brush away confusion of mind; "I have not given you reason for such contempt, and it is most unreasonable."

"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.

Exclamations, questionings, elicited little from Marian. The strain of the long, eventful day had been too great, and the young girl, who might have been taken as a type of incensed womanhood a few moments before, now had scarcely better resources than such remedies as Mrs. Vosburgh's matronly experience knew how to apply. Few remain long on mountain-tops, physical or metaphorical, and deep valleys lie all around them. Little else could be done for the poor girl than to bring the oblivion of sleep, and let kindly Nature nurse her child back to a more healthful condition of body and mind.

But it would be long before Willard Merwyn would be amenable to the gentle offices of nature. Simpson, the footman, flirting desperately with the pretty waitress in the kitchen below, heard his master's swift, heavy step on the veranda, and hastened out only in time to clamber into his seat as Merwyn drove furiously away in the rain and darkness. Every moment the trembling lackey expected they would all go to-wreck and ruin, but the sagacious animals were given their heads, and speedily made their way home.

The man took the reeking steeds to the stable, and Merwyn disappeared. He did not enter the house, for he felt that he would stifle there, and the thought of meeting his mother was intolerable. Therefore, he stole away to a secluded avenue, and strode back and forth under the dripping trees, oblivious, in his fierce perturbation, of outward discomfort.

Mrs. Merwyn waited in vain for him to enter, then questioned the attendant.

"Faix, mum, I know nothin' at all. Mr. Willard druv home loike one possessed, and got out at the door, and that's the last oi've seen uv 'im."

The lady received the significant tidings with mingled anxiety and satisfaction. Two things were evident. He had become more interested in Miss Vosburgh than he had admitted, and she, by strange good fortune, had refused him.

"It was a piece of folly that had to come in some form, I suppose," she soliloquized, "although I did not think Willard anything like so sure to perpetrate it as most young men. Well, the girl has saved me not a little trouble, for, of course, I should have been compelled to break the thing up;" and she sat down to watch and wait. She waited so long that anxiety decidedly got the better of her satisfaction.

Meanwhile the object of her thoughts was passing through an experience of which he had never dreamed. In one brief hour his complacency, pride, and philosophy of life had been torn to tatters. He saw himself as Marian saw him, and he groaned aloud in his loathing and humiliation. He looked back upon his superior airs as ridiculous, and now felt that he would rather be a private in Strahan's company than the scorned and rejected wretch that he was. The passionate nature inherited from his mother was stirred to its depths. Even the traits which he believed to be derived from his father, and which the calculating lawyer had commended, had secured the young girl's most withering contempt; and he saw how she contrasted him with her father and Mr. Lane,—yes, even with little Strahan. In her bitter words he heard the verdict of the young men with whom he had associated, and of the community. Throughout the summer he had dwelt apart, wrapped in his own self-sufficiency and fancied superiority. His views had been of gradual growth, and he had come to regard them as infallible, especially when stamped with the approval of his father's old friend; but the scathing words, yet ringing in his ears, showed him that brave, conscientious manhood was infinitely more than his wealth and birth. As if by a revelation from heaven he saw that he had been measuring everything with the little rule of self, and in consequence he had become so mean and small that a generous-hearted girl had shrunk from him in loathing.

Then in bitter anger and resentment he remembered how he was trammelled by his oath to his mother. It seemed to him that his life was blighted by this pledge and a false education. There was no path to her side who would love and honor only a MAN.

At last the mere physical manifestations of passion and excitement began to pass away, and he felt that he was acting almost like one insane as he entered the house.

Mrs. Merwyn met him, but he said, hoarsely, "I cannot talk with you to-night."

"Willard, be rational. You are wet through. You will catch your death in these clothes."

"Nothing would suit me better, as I feel now;" and he broke away.

He was so haggard when he came down late the next morning that his mother could not have believed such a change possible in so short a time. "It is going to be more serious than I thought," was her mental comment as she poured him out a cup of coffee.

It was indeed; for after drinking the coffee in silence, he looked frowningly out of the window for a time; then said abruptly to the waiter, "Leave the room."

The tone was so stern that the man stole out with a scared look.

"Willard," began Mrs. Merwyn, with great dignity, "you are acting in a manner unbecoming your birth and breeding."

Turning from the window, he fixed his eyes on his mother with a look that made her shiver.

At last he asked, in a low, stern voice, "Why did you bind me with that oath?"

"Because I foresaw some unutterable folly such as you are now manifesting."

"No," he said, in the same cold, hard tone. "It was because your cursed Confederacy was more to you than my freedom, than my manhood,—more to you than I am myself."

"O Willard! What ravings!"

"Was my father insane when he quietly insisted on his rights, yielding you yours? What right had you to cripple my life?"

"I took the only effective means to prevent you from doing just that for yourself."

"How have you succeeded?"

"I have prevented you, as a man of honor, from doing, under a gust of passion, what would spoil all my plans and hopes."

"I am not a man. You have done your best to prevent me from being one. You have bound me with a chain, and made me like one of the slaves on your plantation. Your plans and hopes? Have I no right to plans and hopes?"

"You know my first thought has been of you and for you."

"No, I do not know this. I now remember that, when you bound me, a thoughtless, selfish, indolent boy, you said that you would have torn your heart out rather than marry my father had you foreseen what was coming. This miserable egotist, Jeff Davis, and his scheme of empire, cost what it may, are more to you than husband or child. A mother would have said: 'You have reached manhood and have the rights of a man. I will advise you and seek to guide you. You know my feelings and views, and in their behalf I will even entreat you; but you have reached that age when the law makes you free, and holds you accountable to your own conscience.' Of what value is my life if it is not mine? I should have the right to make my own life, like others."