SLEEP, which Marian said would cut short her father's threatenedpanegyrics of Merwyn, did not come speedily. The young girl hadtoo much food for thought.
She knew that Mrs. Strahan had not, during the past summer,misunderstood her son's faithful nurse. In spite of all prejudiceand resentment, in spite of the annoying fact that he would intrudeso often upon her thoughts, she had to admit the truth that he wasgreatly changed, and that, while she might be the cause, she couldtake to herself no credit for the transformation. To others she hadgiven sincere and cordial encouragement. Towards him she had beenharsh and frigid. He must indeed possess a hardy nature, or elsea cold persistence that almost made her shiver, it was so indomitable.
She felt that she did not understand him; and she both shrunk fromhis character and was fascinated by it. She could not now chargehim with disregard of her feelings and lack of delicacy. His visitshad ceased when he believed them to be utterly repugnant; he hadnot availed himself of the opportunity to see her often affordedby Strahan's illness, and had been quick to take the hint that hecould send his reports to her father. There had been no effort tomake her aware of his self-sacrificing devotion to her friend. Thething that was irritating her was that he could approach so nearlyto her standard and yet fail in a point that to her was vital. Hiscourse indicated unknown characteristics or circumstances, and shefelt that she could never give him her confidence and unreservedregard while he fell short of the test of manhood which she believedthat the times demanded. If underneath all his apparent changesfor the better there was an innate lack of courage to meet dangerand hardship, or else a cold, calculating purpose not to take theserisks, she would shrink from him in strong repulsion. She knewthat the war had developed not a few constitutional cowards,--mento be pitied, it is true, but with a commiseration that, in hercase, would be mingled with contempt. On the other hand, if hereasoned, "I will win her if I can; I will do all and more thanshe can ask, but I will not risk the loss of a lifetime's enjoymentof my wealth," she would quietly say to him by her manner: "Enjoyyour wealth. I can have no part in such a scheme of existence; Iwill not give my hand, even in friendship, to a man who would doless than I would, were I in his place."
If her father was right, and he had scruples of conscience, or someother unknown restraint, she felt that she must know all beforeshe would give her trust and more. If he could not satisfy her onthese points, as others had done so freely and spontaneously, hehad no right to ask or expect more from her than ordinary courtesy.
Having thus resolutely considered antidotes for a tendency towardsrelentings not at all to her mind, and met, as she believed, herfather's charge of unfairness, her thoughts, full of sympathy andhope, dwelt upon the condition of her friend. Recalling the pastand the present, her heart grew very tender, and she found that heoccupied in it a foremost place. Indeed, it seemed to her a speciesof disloyalty to permit any one to approach his place and that ofMr. Lane, for both formed an inseparable part of her new and moreearnest life.
She, too, had changed, and was changing. As her nature deepened andgrew stronger it was susceptible of deeper and stronger influences.Under the old regime pleasure, excitement, triumphs of power thatministered to vanity, had been her superficial motives. To the degreethat she had now attained true womanhood, the influences that actupon and control a woman were in the ascendant. Love ceased to dwellin her mind as a mere fastidious preference, nor could marriageever be a calculating choice, made with the view of securing thegreatest advantages. She knew that earnest men loved her without athought of calculation,--loved her for herself alone. She calledthem friends now, and to her they were no more as yet. But theirdownright sincerity made her sincere and thoughtful. Her esteem andaffection for them were so great that she was not at all certainthat circumstances and fuller acquaintance might not develop herregard towards one or the other of them into a far deeper feeling.In their absence, their manly qualities appealed to her imagination.She had reached a stage in spiritual development where her woman'snature was ready for its supreme requirement. She could be morethan friend, and was conscious of the truth; and she believed thather heart would make a positive and final choice in accord withher intense and loyal sympathies. In the great drama of the warcentred all that ideal and knightly action that has ever been sofascinating to her sex, and daily conversation with her father hadenabled her to understand what lofty principles and great destinieswere involved. She had been shown how President Lincoln's proclamation,freeing the slaves, had aimed a fatal blow at the chief enemiesof liberty, not only in this land, but in all lands. Mr. Vosburghwas a philosophical student of history, and, now that she had becomehis companion, he made it clear to her how the present was linkedto the past. Instead of being imbued with vindictiveness towardsthe South, she was made to see a brave, self-sacrificing, but misledpeople, seeking to rivet their own chains and blight the future oftheir fair land. Therefore, a man like Lane, capable of appreciatingand acting upon these truths, took heroic proportions in her fancy,while Strahan, almost as delicate as a girl, yet brave as the best,won, in his straightforward simplicity, her deepest sympathy. Thefact that the latter was near, that his heart had turned to hereven from under the shadow of death, gave him an ascendency forthe time.
"To some such man I shall eventually yield," she assured herself,"and not to one who brings a chill of doubt, not to one unmasteredby loyal impulses to face every danger which our enemies dare meet."
Then she slept, and dreamt that she saw Strahan reaching out hishands to her for help from dark, unknown depths.
She awoke sobbing, and, under the confused impulse of the moment,exclaimed: "He shall have all the help I can give; he shall live.While he is weaker, he is braver than Mr. Lane. He triumphed overhimself and everything. He most needs me. Mr. Lane is strong inhimself. Why should I be raising such lofty standards of self-sacrificewhen I cannot give love to one who most needs it, most deservesit?"
CHAPTER XXIII.
"MY FRIENDSHIP IS MINE TO GIVE."
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