MERWYN found the storm so congenial to his mood that he breastedit for hours before returning to his home. There, in weariness andreaction, he sank into deep dejection.
"What is the use of anger?" he asked himself, as he renewed thedying fire in his room. "In view of all the past, she has morecause for resentment than I, while it is a matter of indifferenceto her whether I am angry or not. I might as well be incensed atice because it is cold, and she is ice to me. She has her standardand a circle of friends who come up to it. This I never have doneand never can do. Therefore she only tolerates me and is more thanwilling that I should disappear below her horizon finally. I was afool to speak the words I did to-night. What can they mean to herwhen nothing is left for me, apparently, but a safe, luxurious life?Such outbreaks can only seem hysterical or mere affectations, andthere shall be no more of them, let the provocation be what it may.Indeed, why should I inflict myself on her any more? I cannot saythat she has not a woman's heart, but I wronged and chilled itfrom the first, and cannot now retrieve myself. If I should go toher to-morrow, even in a private's uniform, she would give me herhand cordially, but she compares me with hundreds of thousands whoseem braver men than I. It is useless for me to suggest that I amdoing more than those who go to fight. Her thought would be: 'Ihave all the friends I need among more knightly spirits who arenot afraid to look brave enemies in the face, and without whom theNorth would be disgraced. Let graybeards furnish the sinews of war;let young men give their blood if need be. It is indeed strangethat a man's arm should be paralyzed, and his best hope in lifeblighted, by a mother!'"
If he could have known Marian's thoughts and heard the conversationthat ensued with her father, he would not have been so despondent.
When he left her so abruptly she again experienced the compunctionsshe had felt before. Whether he deserved it or not she could notshut her eyes to the severity of the wound inflicted, or to hissuffering. In vain she tried to assure herself that he did deserve it.Granting this, the thoughts asserted themselves: "Why am I calledupon to resent his course? Having granted his request to visit me,I might, at least, be polite and affable on his own terms. Becausehe wishes more, and perhaps hopes for more, this does not, as papasays, commit me in the least. He may have some scruple in fightingopenly against the land of his mother's ancestry. If that scruplehas more weight with him than my friendly regard, that is his affair.His words to-night indicated that he must be under some strongrestraint. O dear! I wish I had never known him; he perplexes andworries me. The course of my other friends is simple and straightforwardas the light. Why do I say other friends? He's not a friend at all,yet my thoughts return to him in a way that is annoying."
When her father came home she told him what had occurred, andunconsciously permitted him to see that her mind was disturbed.He did not smile quizzically, as some sagacious people would havedone, thus touching the young girl's pride and arraying it againsther own best interests, it might be. With the thought of herhappiness ever uppermost, he would discover the secret causes of herunwonted perturbation. Not only Merwyn--about whom he had satisfiedhimself--should have his chance, but also the girl herself. Mrs.Vosburgh's conventional match-making would leave no chance foreither. The profounder man believed that nature, unless interferedwith by heavy, unskilful hands, would settle the question rightly.
He therefore listened without comment, and at first only remarked,"Evidently, Marian, you are not trying to make the most and bestof this young fellow."
"But, papa, am I bound to do this for people who are disagreeableto me and who don't meet my views at all?"
"Certainly not. Indeed, you may have frozen Merwyn out of the listof your acquaintances already."
"Well," replied the girl, almost petulantly, "that, perhaps, willbe the best ending of the whole affair."
"That's for you to decide, my dear."
"But, papa, I FEEL that you don't approve of my course."
"Neither do I disapprove of it. I only say, according to our bondto be frank, that you are unfair to Merwyn. Of course, if he isessentially disagreeable to you, there is no occasion for you tomake a martyr of yourself."
"That's what irritates me so," said the girl, impetuously. "Hemight have made himself very agreeable. But he undervalued andmisunderstood me so greatly from the first that it was hard toforgive him."
"If he hadn't shown deep contrition and regret for that course Ishouldn't wish you to forgive him, even though his antecedents hadmade anything better scarcely possible."
"Come down to the present hour, then. What he asked of you is onething. I see what he wishes. He desires, at least, the friendshipthat I give to those who fulfil my ideal of manhood in these times.He has no right to seek this without meeting the conditions whichremove all hesitation in regard to others. It angers me that he doesso. I feel as if he were seeking to buy my good-will by donationsto this, that, and the other thing. He still misunderstands me.Why can't he realize that, to one of my nature, fording the icyRappahannock to-night would count for more than his writing checksfor millions?"
"Probably he does understand it, and that is what he meant byhis words to-night, when he said, 'What is this storm, or what abattle?'"
She was overwrought, excited, and off her guard, and spoke from adeep impulse. "A woman, in giving herself, gives everything. If hecan't give up a scruple--I mean if his loyalty is so slight thathis mother's wishes and dead ancestors--"
"My dear little girl, you are not under the slightest obligationto give anything," resumed her father, discreetly oblivious to thesignificance of her words. "If you care to give a little good-willand kindness to one whom you have granted the right to visit you,they will tend to confirm and develop the better and manly qualitieshe is now manifesting. You know I have peculiar faculties of findingout about people, and, incidentally and casually, I have informedmyself about this Mr. Merwyn. I think I can truly say that he isdoing all and more than could be expected of a young fellow in hiscircumstances, with the one exception that he does not put on ouruniform and go to the front. He may have reasons--very possibly, asyou think, mistaken and inadequate ones--which, nevertheless, arebinding on his conscience. What else could his words mean to-night?He is not living a life of pleasure-seeking and dissipation, like somany other young nabobs in the city. Apparently he has not soughtmuch other society than yours. Pardon me for saying it, but youhave not given him much encouragement to avoid the temptations thatare likely to assail a lonely, irresponsible young fellow. In onesense you are under no obligation to do this; in another, perhapsyou are, for you must face the fact that you have great influenceover him. This influence you must either use or throw away, asyou decide. You are not responsible for this influence; neither areyour friends responsible for the war. When it came, however, theyfaced the disagreeable and dangerous duties that it brought."
"O papa! I have been a stupid, resentful fool."
"No, my dear; at the worst you have been misled by generous andloyal impulses. Your deep sympathy with recent events has made youmorbid, and therefore unfair. To your mind Mr. Merwyn representedthe half-hearted element that shuns meeting what must be met atevery cost. If this were true of him I should share in your spirit,but he appears to be trying to be loyal and to do what he can inthe face of obstacles greater than many overcome."
"I don't believe he will ever come near me again!" she exclaimed.
"Then you are absolved in the future. Of course we can make noadvances towards a man who has been your suitor."
Merwyn's course promised to fulfil her fear,--she now acknowledgedto herself that it was a fear,--for his visits ceased. She triedto dismiss him from her thoughts, but a sense of her unfairnessand harshness haunted her. She did not see why she had not takenher father's view, or why she had thrown away her influence thataccorded with the scheme of life to which she had pledged herself.The very restraint indicated by his words was a mystery, andmysteries are fascinating. She remembered, with compunction, thatnot even his own mother had sought to develop
a true, manly spiritin him. "Now he is saying," she thought, bitterly, "that I, too,am a fanatic,--worse than his mother."
Weeks passed and she heard nothing from him, nor did her fathermention his name. While her regret was distinct and positive,it must not be supposed that it gave her serious trouble. Indeed,the letters of Mr. Lane, and the semi-humorous journal of Strahanand Blauvelt, together with the general claims of society and herinterest in her father's deep anxieties, were fast banishing itfrom her mind, when, to her surprise, his card was handed to herone stormy afternoon, late in January.
"I am sorry to intrude upon you, Miss Vosburgh," he began, as sheappeared, "but--"
"Why should you regard it as an intrusion, Mr. Merwyn?"
"I think a lady has a right to regard any unwelcome society as anintrusion."
"Admitting even so much, it does not follow that this is an intrusion,"she said, laughing. Then she added, with slightly heightened color:"Mr. Merwyn, I must at least keep my own self-respect, and thisrequires an acknowledgment. I was rude to you when you last called.But I was morbid from anxiety and worry over what was happening.I had no right to grant your request to call upon me and then failin courtesy."
"Will you, then, permit me to renew my old request?" he asked, withan eagerness that he could not disguise.
"Certainly not. That would imply such utter failure on my part! Youshould be able to forgive me one slip, remembering the circumstances."
"You have the most to forgive," he replied, humbly. "I asked forlittle more than toleration, but I felt that I had not the rightto force even this upon you."
"I am glad you are inclined to be magnanimous," she replied,laughing. "Women usually take advantage of that trait in men--whenthey manifest it. We'll draw a line through the evening of the 20thof December, and, as Jefferson says, in his superb impersonationof poor old Rip, 'It don't count.' By the way, have you seen him?"she asked, determined that the conversation should take a differentchannel.
"No; I have been busy of late. But pardon me, Miss Vosburgh,I'm forgetting my errand shamefully. Do not take the matter tooseriously. I think you have no reason to do so. Mr. Strahan is inthe city and is ill. I have just come from him."
Her face paled instantly, and she sank into a chair.
"I beg of you not to be so alarmed," he added, hastily. "I shallnot conceal anything from you. By the merest chance I saw himcoming up Broadway in a carriage, and, observing that he lookedill, jumped into a hack and followed him to his residence. You hadreason for your anxiety on December 20th, for he took a severe coldfrom exposure that night. For a time he made light of it, but atlast obtained sick-leave. He asked me to tell you--"
"He has scarcely mentioned the fact that he was not well;" andthere was an accent of reproach in the young girl's tones.
"I understand Strahan better than I once did, perhaps because betterable to understand him," was Merwyn's quiet reply. "He is a brave,generous fellow, and, no doubt, wished to save you from anxiety.There has been no chance for him to say very much to me."
"Was he expected by his family?"
"They were merely informed, by a telegram, that he was on his way.He is not so well as when he started. Naturally he is worse for thejourney. Moreover, he used these words, 'I felt that I was goingto be ill and wished to get home.'"
"Has a physician seen him yet?"
"Yes, I brought their family physician in the hack, which I had keptwaiting. He fears that it will be some time before his patient isout again. I have never been seriously ill myself, but I am sure--Imean, I have heard--that a few words often have great influence inaiding one in Strahan's condition to triumph over disease. It isoften a question of will and courage, you know. I will take a noteto him if you wish. Poor fellow! he may have his biggest fight onhand while the others are resting in winter quarters."
"I shall be only too glad to avail myself of your offer. Pleaseexcuse me a moment."
When she returned he saw traces of tears in her eyes. She asked,eagerly, "Will you see him often?"
"I shall call daily."
"Would it be too much trouble for you to let me know how he is,should he be very seriously ill?" Then, remembering that this mightlead to calls more frequent than she was ready to receive, or thanhe would find it convenient to make, she added: "I suppose youare often down town and might leave word with papa at his office.I have merely a formal acquaintance with Mrs. Strahan and herdaughters, and, if Mr. Strahan should be very ill, I should haveto rely upon you for information."
"I shall make sure that you learn of his welfare daily until heis able to write to you, and I esteem it a privilege to render youthis service."
He then bowed and turned away, and she did not detain him. Indeed,her mind was so absorbed by her friend's danger that she could notthink of much else.
The next day a note, addressed to Mr. Vosburgh, was left athis office, giving fuller particulars of Strahan's illness, whichthreatened to be very serious indeed. High fever had been developed,and the young soldier had lost all intelligent consciousness. Daysfollowed in which this fever was running its course, and Merwyn'sreports, ominous in spite of all effort to disguise the deep anxietyfelt by Strahan's friends, were made only through Mr. Vosburgh.Marian began to regret her suggestion that the information shouldcome in this way, for she now felt that Merwyn had received theimpression that his presence would not be agreeable. She was eagerfor more details and oppressed with the foreboding that she wouldnever see her light-hearted friend again. She was almost temptedto ask Merwyn to call, but felt a strange reluctance to do so.
"I gave him sufficient encouragement to continue his visits," shethought, "and he should distinguish between the necessity of comingevery day and the privilege of coming occasionally."
One evening her father looked very grave as he handed Marian thenote addressed to him.
"O papa!" exclaimed the girl, "he's worse!"
"Yes, I fear Strahan is in a very critical condition. I happenedto meet Merwyn when he left the note to-day, and the young fellowhimself looked haggard and ill. But he carelessly assured me thathe was perfectly well. He said that the crisis of Strahan's feverwas approaching, and that the indications were bad."
"Papa!" cried the girl, tearfully, "I can't endure this suspenseand inaction. Why would it be bad taste for us to call on Mrs.Strahan this evening? She must know how dear a friend Arthur is tome. I don't care for conventionality in a case like this. It seemscold-blooded to show no apparent interest, and it might do Arthurgood if he should learn that we had been there because of ouranxiety and sympathy."
"Well, my dear, what you suggest is the natural and loyal course,and therefore outweighs all conventionality in my mind. We'll goafter dinner."
Marian's doubt as to her reception by Mrs. Strahan was speedilydispelled, for the sorrow-stricken mother was almost affectionatein her welcome.
"Arthur, in his delirium, often mentions your name," she said, "andthen he is in camp or battle again, or else writing his journal.I have thought of sending for you, but he wouldn't have known you.He does not even recognize me, and has not for days. Our physiciancommands absolute quiet and as little change in those about him aspossible. What we should have done without Mr. Merwyn I scarcelyknow. He is with him now, and has watched every night since Arthur'sreturn. I never saw any one so changed, or else we didn't understandhim. He is tireless in his strength, and womanly in his patience.His vigils are beginning to tell on him sadly, but he says that hewill not give up till the crisis is past. If Arthur lives he willowe his life largely to one who, last summer, appeared too indolentto think of anything but his own pleasure. How we often misjudgepeople! They were boys and playmates together, and are both greatlychanged. O Miss Vosburgh, my heart just stands still with dreadwhen I think of what may soon happen. Arthur had become so manly,and we were so proud of him! He has written me more than once ofyour influence, and I had hoped that the way might open for ourbetter acquaintance."
"Do you think the crisis may come to-night?" Mari
an asked, withquivering lips.
"Yes, it may come now at any hour. The physician will remain allnight."
"Oh, I wish I might know early in the morning. Believe me, I shallnot sleep."
"You shall know, Miss Vosburgh, and I hope you will come and seeme, whatever happens. You will please excuse me now, for I cannotbe away from Arthur at this time. I would not have seen any onebut you."
At one o'clock in the morning there was a ring at Mr. Vosburgh'sdoor. He opened it, and Merwyn stood there wrapped in his furcloak. "Will you please give this note to Miss Vosburgh?" he said."I think it contains words that will bring welcome relief and hope.I would not have disturbed you at this hour had I not seen yourlight burning;" and, before Mr. Vosburgh could reply, he liftedhis hat and strode away.
The note ran as follows:
"MY DEAR MISS VOSBURGH:--Arthur became conscious a little beforetwelve. He was fearfully weak, and for a time his life appearedto flicker. I alone was permitted to be with him. After a while Iwhispered that you had been here. He smiled and soon fell into aquiet sleep. Our physician now gives us strong hopes.
"Sincerely and gratefully yours,
"CHARLOTTE STRAHAN."
Marian, who had been sleepless from thoughts more evenly dividedbetween her friend and Merwyn than she would have admitted evento herself, handed the note to her father. Her face indicated bothgladness and perplexity. He read and returned it with a smile.
"Papa," she said, "you have a man's straightforward common-sense.I am only a little half-girl and half-woman. Do you know, I almostfear that both Mrs. Strahan and Mr. Merwyn believe I am virtuallyengaged to Arthur."
"Their belief can't engage you," said her father, laughing. "YoungStrahan will get well, thanks to you and Merwyn. Mrs. Strahan saidthat both were greatly changed. Merwyn certainly must have a hardynature, for he improves under a steady frost."
"Papa!" cried Marian, with a vivid blush, "you are a deeper and moredangerous ally of Mr. Menvyn than mamma. I am on my guard againstyou both, and I shall retire at once before you begin a panegyricthat will cease only when you find I am asleep."
"Yes, my dear, go and sleep the sleep of the unjust!"
CHAPTER XXII.
A GIRL'S THOUGHTS AND IMPULSES.
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