Part 61 (1/2)
”I certainly think you may speak freely before these gentlemen,”
was her reply.
”Mr. Vosburgh trusts us implicitly, and I think we are deserving of it,” said one of the agents.
”Why need you go out again when you are so weary?” Marian asked.
”I am expecting papa every moment, and I know he would like you to stay with him.”
”That would be impossible. Besides, I have some curiosity to learn whether I have a home left. My report in brief amounts to little more than this. Soon after our return from the mayor's residence on Broadway we were ordered down to Printing-House Square. Intelligence that an immense mob was attacking the Tribune Office had been received. Our hasty march thither, and the free use of the club on our arrival, must account for my present plight. You see, gentlemen, that I am not a veteran, only a raw recruit. In a day or two I shall be more seasoned to the work. You may say to your father, Miss Vosburgh, that the mob had been broken before we arrived. We met them on their retreat across City-Hall Park, and nothing was left for us but the heavy, stupid work of knocking a good many of the poor wretches on the head. Such fighting makes me sick; yet it is imperative, no doubt. Inspector Carpenter is at City Hall with a large force, and the rioters are thoroughly dispersed. I think the lower part of the city will be quiet for the night.”
”You were wise, Mr. Merwyn, to ride up town,” said Marian, gravely.
”I know well that you have been taxed to-day beyond the strength of any veteran.”
”How did you know that I rode up town?”
”I was watching for papa, and saw you leave your carriage.”
”I could never have reached home had I not secured a cab, and that reminds me that it is waiting around the corner; at least, the driver promised to wait. I shall now say good-night. Oh, by the way, in the press of other things I forgot to say that Mrs. Ghegan reached her husband, and that her good nursing, with surgical help, will probably save his life.”
Bowing to the agents, who had been listening and watching him with great curiosity, he turned to the door.
Marian opened it for him, and, stepping out into the dusky area, said, ”I see that you do not forgive me.”
”And I have seen, to-day, Miss Vosburgh, that you detest me. You showed the truth plainly when off your guard. Your own pride and sense of justice may lead you to seek to make amends for an error in your estimate of me. Having convinced you that I am not a coward, I have accomplished all that I can hope for, and I'm in no mood for hollow courtesies. I shall do everything in my power to aid your father until the trouble is over or I am disabled, and then will annoy you no more. Good-night;” and he strode away, with a firm, rapid step, proving that his pride for a moment had mastered his almost mortal weariness.
Marian returned to her post in the second story to watch for her father, her ears tingling, and every faculty confused, while excited, by the words Merwyn had spoken. He had revealed his att.i.tude towards her clearly, and, as she grew calmer, she saw it was not a mere question of the offence she had given him that morning which she had to face, but rather a deep-rooted conviction that he was personally detested.
”If he knew how far this is from the truth NOW!” she thought, with a smile.
Then the query presented itself: ”How far is it from the truth? Why am I thinking more of him than of the riot, our danger, yes, even my father?”
In the light of that lurid day much had been revealed to her, and before her revery ceased she understood her long months of irritation and anger at Merwyn's course; she saw why she had not dismissed him from her thoughts with contemptuous indifference and why she had ingeniously wrought the MacIan theory of const.i.tutional timidity.
When had she given so much thought to a man whom she had disliked?
Even in her disapproval of him, even when her soldier friends appeared at their best and she was contrasting him with them to his fatal disadvantage as she believed, thoughts of him would pursue her constantly. Now that he had shown himself the peer of each and all in manhood and courage, it seemed as if feelings, long held in check, were released and were sweeping irresistibly towards one conclusion. Merwyn was more to her than any other man in the world.
He had fulfilled her ideal, and was all the more attractive because he was capable of such deep, strong pa.s.sion, and yet could be so resolute and cool.
”But how can I ever undeceive him?” was her most perplexing thought.
”I cannot make advances. Well, well, the future must disentangle itself.”
Now that she was beginning to understand herself, every instinct of her being led towards reserve. In a misunderstanding with her soldier friends she could easily and frankly effect a reconciliation, but she must be dumb with Merwyn, and distant in manner, to the degree that she was self-conscious.
Suddenly she became aware that it was growing late, and that her father had not returned, and for the next hour she suffered terribly from anxiety, as did many women in those days of strange vicissitudes.
At last, a little before midnight, he came, looking stern and anxious. ”I will soon explain,” he said to her. ”Take this woman to her room.” Then, to his aroused and sleepy agents: ”You have had some rest and respite. Go to the nearest hotel and take a little more, but be up with the dawn and do your best, for to-morrow promises to be worse than to-day.”