An Original Belle Part 25

From her very const.i.tution, now that she had begun to comprehend the nature of the times, Marian Vosburgh could not breathe this air in tranquillity. She was, by birthright, a spirited, warm-hearted girl, possessing all a woman's disposition towards partisanship.

Everything during the past few months had tended to awaken a deep interest in the struggle, and pa.s.sing events intensified it. Not only in the daily press did she eagerly follow the campaign, but from her father she learned much that was unknown to the general public. To a girl of mind the great drama in itself could not fail to become absorbing, but when it is remembered that those who had the strongest hold upon her heart were imperilled actors in the tragedy, the feeling with which she watched the shifting scenes may in some degree be appreciated. She often saw her father's brow clouded with deep anxiety, and dreaded that each new day might bring orders which would again take him into danger.

While the letters of her loyal friend, Lane, veiled all that was hard and repulsive in his service, she knew that the days of drill and equipment would soon be over, and that the new regiment must partic.i.p.ate in the dangers of active duty. This was equally true of Strahan and Blauvelt. She laughed heartily over their ill.u.s.trated journal, which, in the main, gave the comic side of their life. But she never laid it aside without a sigh, for she read much between the lines, and knew that the hour of battle was rapidly approaching.

Thus far they had been within the fortifications at Washington, for the authorities had learned the folly of sending undisciplined recruits to the front.

At last, when the beautiful month of October was ended, and Lee's shattered army was rested and reorganized, McClellan once more crossed the Potomac. Among the reinforcements sent to him were the regiments of which Lane and Strahan were members. The letters of her friends proved that they welcomed the change and with all the ardor of brave, loyal men looked forward to meeting the enemy. In heart and thought she went with them, but a sense of their danger fell, like a shadow, across her spirit. She appeared years older than the thoughtless girl for whom pa.s.sing pleasure and excitement had been the chief motives of life; but in the strengthening lines of her face a womanly beauty was developing which caused even strangers to turn and glance after her.

If Merwyn still retained some hold upon her thoughts and curiosity, so much could scarcely be said of her sympathy. He had disappeared from the moment when she had harshly dismissed him, and she was beginning to feel that she had been none too severe, and to believe that his final words had been spoken merely from impulse. If he were amusing himself abroad, Marian, in her intense loyalty, would despise him; if he were permitting himself to be identified with his mother's circle of Southern sympathizers, the young girl's contempt would be tinged with detestation. He had approached her too nearly, and humiliated her too deeply, to be readily forgotten or forgiven. His pa.s.sionate outbreak at last had been so intense as to awaken strong echoes in her woman's soul. If return to a commonplace fashionable life was to be the only result of the past, she would scarcely ever think of him without an angry sparkle in her eyes.

After she had learned that her friends were in the field and therefore exposed to the dangers of battle at any time, she had soliloquized, bitterly: "He promised to 'measure everything by the breadth of my woman's soul.' What does he know about a true woman's soul? He has undoubtedly found his selfish nature and his purse more convenient gauges of the world. Well, he knows of one girl who cannot be bought."

Her unfavorable impression was confirmed one cold November morning.

Pa.s.sing down Madison Avenue, her casual attention was attracted by the opening of a door on the opposite side of the street. She only permitted her swift glance to take in the fact that it was Merwyn who descended the steps and entered an elegant coupe driven by a man in a plain livery. After the vehicle had been whirled away, curiosity prompted her to retrace her steps that she might look more closely at the residence of the man who had asked her to be his wife. It was evidently one of the finest and most substantial houses on the avenue.

A frown contracted the young girl's brow as she muttered: "He aspired to my hand,--he, who fares sumptuously in that brown-stone palace while such men as Mr. Lane are fortunate to have a canvas roof over their heads. He had the narrowness of mind to half-despise Arthur Strahan, who left equal luxury to face every danger and hardship. Thank Heaven I planted some memories in his sn.o.bbish soul!"

Thereafter she avoided that locality.

In the evening, with words scarcely less bitter, she mentioned to her father the fact that she had seen Merwyn and his home.

Mr. Vosburgh smiled and said, "You have evidently lost all compunctions in regard to your treatment of the young fellow."

"I have, indeed. The battle of Antietam alone would place a Red Sea between me and any young American who can now live a life of selfish luxury. Think how thousands of our brave men will sleep this stormy night on the cold, rain-soaked ground, and then think of his cold-blooded indifference to it all!"

"Why think of him at all, Marian?" her father asked, with a quizzical smile.

The color deepened slightly in her face as she replied: "Why shouldn't I think of him to some extent? He has crossed my path in no ordinary way. His attentions at first were humiliating, and he awakened an antipathy such as I never felt towards any one before.

He tried to belittle you, my friends, and the cause to which you are devoted. Then, when I told him the truth about himself, he appeared to have manhood enough to comprehend it. His words made me think of a man desperately wounded, and my sympathies were touched, and I felt that I had been unduly severe and all that. In fact, I was overwrought, ill, morbid, conscience-stricken as I remembered my own past life, and he appeared to feel what I said so awfully that I couldn't forget it. I had silly dreams and hopes that he would a.s.sert his manhood and take a loyal part in the struggle.

But what has been his course? So far as I can judge, it has been in keeping with his past. Settling down to a life of ease and money-making here would be little better, in my estimation, than amusing himself abroad. It would be simply another phase of following his own mood and inclinations; and I shall look upon his outburst and appeal as hysterical rather than pa.s.sionate and sincere."

Mr. Vosburgh listened, with a half-amused expression, to his daughter's indignant and impetuous words, but only remarked, quietly, "Suppose you find that you have judged Mr. Merwyn unjustly?"

"I don't think I have done so. At any rate, one can only judge from what one knows."

"Stick to that. Your present impressions and feelings do you credit, and I am glad that your friends' loyal devotion counts for more in your esteem than Merwyn's wealth. Still, in view of your scheme of life to make the most and best of men of brains and force, I do not think you have given the young nabob time and opportunity to reveal himself fully. He may have recently returned from England, and, since his mother was determined to reside abroad, it was his duty to establish her well before returning. You evidently have not dismissed him from your thoughts. Since that is true, do not condemn him utterly until you see what he does. What if he again seeks your society?"

"Well, I don't know, papa. As I feel to-night I never wish to see him again."

"I'm not sure of that, little girl. You are angry and vindictive.

If he were a nonent.i.ty you would be indifferent."

"Astute papa! That very fact perplexes me. But haven't I explained why I cannot help thinking of him to some extent?"

"No, not even to yourself."

Marian bit her lip with something like vexation, then said, reproachfully, "Papa, you can't think that I care for him?"

"Oh, no,--not in the sense indicated by your tone. But your silly dreams and hopes, as you characterize them, have taken a stronger hold upon you than you realize. You are disappointed as well as angry. You have entertained the thought that he might do something, or become more in harmony with the last words he spoke to you."

"Well, he hasn't."

"You have not yet given him sufficient time, perhaps. I shall not seek to influence you in the matter, but the question still presents itself: What if he again seeks your society and shows a disposition to make good his words?"

"I shall not show him," replied Marian, proudly, "greater favor than such friends as Mr. Lane and Mr. Strahan required. Without being influenced by me, they decided to take part in the war. After they had taken the step which did so much credit to their manly courage and loyalty, they came and told me of it. If Mr. Merwyn should show equal spirit and patriotism and be very humble in view of the past, I should, of course, feel differently towards him. If he don't--" and the girl shook her head ominously.

Her father laughed heartily. "Why!" he exclaimed; "I doubt whether in all the sunny South there is such a little fire-eater as we have here."

"No, papa, no," cried Marian, with suddenly moistening eyes. "I regret the war beyond all power of expression. I could not ask, much less urge, any one to go, and my heart trembles and shrinks when I think of danger threatening those I love. But I honor--I almost worship--courage, loyalty, patriotism. Do you think I can ever love any one as I do you? Yet I believe you would go to Richmond to-morrow if you were so ordered. I ask nothing of this Merwyn, or of any one; but he who asks my friendship must at least be brave and loyal enough to go where my father would lead. Even if I loved a man, even if I were married, I would rather that the one _I_ loved did all a man's duty, though my heart was broken and my life blighted in consequence, than to have him seeking safety and comfort in some eminently prudent, temporizing course."

Mr. Vosburgh put his arm around his daughter, as he looked, for a moment, into her tear-dimmed eyes, then kissed her good-night, and said, quietly, "I understand you, Marian."

"But, papa!" she exclaimed, in sudden remorsefulness, "you won't take any risks that you can honorably escape?"

"I promise you I won't go out to-night in search of the nearest recruiting sergeant," replied her father, with a rea.s.suring laugh.

CHAPTER XIX.

PROBATION PROMISED.

MERWYN had been in the city some little time when Marian, unknown to him, learned of his presence. He, also, had seen her more than once, and while her aspect had increased his admiration and a feeling akin to reverence, it had also disheartened him. To a degree unrecognized by the girl herself, her present motives and stronger character had changed the expression of her face. He had seen her when unconscious of observation and preoccupied by thoughts which made her appear grave and almost stern, and he was again a.s.sured that the advantages on which he had once prided himself were as nothing to her compared with the loyalty of friends now in Virginia.

He could not go there, nor could he explain why he must apparently shun danger and hardship. He felt that his oath to his mother would be, in her eyes, no extenuation of his conduct. Indeed, he believed that she would regard the fact that he could give such a pledge as another proof of his unworthiness to be called an American. How could it be otherwise when he himself could not look back upon the event without a sense of deep personal humiliation?

"I was an idiotic fool when I gave away manhood and its rights,"

he groaned. "My mother took advantage of me."

In addition to the personal motive to conceal the fact of his oath, he had even a stronger one. The revelation of his pledge would be proof positive of his mother's disloyalty, and might jeopardize the property on which she and his sisters depended for support.

Moreover, while he bitterly resented Mrs. Merwyn's course towards him he felt that honor and family loyalty required that he should never speak a word to her discredit. The reflection implied in his final words to Marian had been wrung from him in the agony of a wounded spirit, and he now regretted them. Henceforth he would hide the fetters which in restraining him from taking the part in the war now prompted by his feelings also kept him from the side of the girl who had won the entire allegiance of his awakened heart.

He did not know how to approach her, and feared lest a false step should render the gulf between them impa.s.sable. He saw that her pride, while of a different character, was greater than his own had ever been, and that the consideration of his birth and wealth, which he had once dreamed must outweigh all things else, would not influence her in the slightest degree. Men whom she regarded as his equals in these respects were not only at her feet but also facing the enemy as her loyal knights. How pitiable a figure in her eyes he must ever make compared with them!

But there is no gravitation like that of the heart. He felt that he must see her again, and was ready to sue for even the privilege of being tolerated in her drawing-room on terms little better than those formerly accorded him.

When he arrived in New York he had hesitated as to his course. His first impulse had been to adopt a life of severe and inexpensive simplicity. But he soon came to look upon this plan as an affectation.

There was his city home, and he had a perfect right to occupy it, and abundant means to maintain it. After seeing Marian's resolute, earnest face as she pa.s.sed in the street unconscious of his scrutiny, and after having learned more about her father from his legal adviser, the impression grew upon him that he had lost his chance, and he was inclined to take refuge in a cold, proud reticence and a line of conduct that would cause no surmises and questionings on the part of the world. He would take his natural position, and live in such a way as to render curiosity impertinent.

He had inherited too much of his father's temperament to sit down in morbid brooding, and even were he disposed toward such weakness he felt that his words to Marian required that he should do all that he was now free to perform in the advancement of the cause to which she was devoted. She might look with something like contempt on a phase of loyalty which gave only money when others were giving themselves, but it was the best he could do. Whether she would ever recognize the truth or not, his own self-respect required that he should keep his word and try to look at things from her point of view, and, as far as possible, act accordingly. For a time he was fully occupied with Mr. Bodoin in obtaining a fuller knowledge of his property and the nature of its investment. Having learned more definitely about his resources he next followed the impulse to aid the cause for which he could not fight.

A few mornings after the interview between Marian and her father described in the previous chapter, Mr. Vosburgh, looking over his paper at the breakfast-table, laughed and said: "What do you think of this, Marian? Here is Merwyn's name down for a large donation to the Sanitary and Christian Commissions."

His daughter smiled satirically as she remarked, "Such heroism takes away my breath."