Merwyn knew that Marian would witness the departure, and he watched in the distance till he saw her emerge from her home and go to a building on Broadway in which her father had secured her a place.  She was attended by an officer clad in the uniform of a service so dear to her, but which he had sworn never to wear.  He hastily secured a point of observation in a building opposite, for while the vision of the young girl awakened almost desperate revolt at his lot, he could not resist a lover’s impulse to see her.  Pale, silent, absorbed, he saw her wave her handkerchief and smile at her friends as they passed; he saw a white-haired old lady reach out her hands in yearning love, an eloquent pantomime that indicated that her sons were marching under her eyes, and then she sank back into Marian’s arms.

“Oh,” groaned Merwyn, “if that were my mother I could give her a love that would be almost worship.”

CHAPTER XXXI.

“I’ve lost my chance.”

During the remainder of the 17th of June and for the next few days, the militia regiments of New York and Brooklyn were departing for the seat of war.  The city was filled with conflicting rumors.  On the 19th it was said that the invaders were returning to Virginia.  The questions “Where is Lee, and what are his purposes? and what is the army of the Potomac about?” were upon all lips.

On the 20th came the startling tidings of organized resistance to the draft in Ohio, and of troops fired upon by the mob.  Mr. Vosburgh frowned heavily as he read the account at the breakfast-table and said:  “The test of my fears will come when the conscription begins in this city, and it may come much sooner.  I wish you to join your mother before that day, Marian!”

“No,” she said, quietly,—­“not unless you compel, me to.”

“I may be obliged to use my authority,” said her father, after some thought.  “My mind is oppressed by a phase of danger not properly realized.  The city is being stripped of its loyal regiments, and every element of mischief is left behind.”

“Papa, I entreat you not to send me away while you remain.  I assure you that such a course would involve far greater danger to me than staying with you, even though your fears should be realized.  If the worst should happen, I might escape all harm.  If you do what you threaten, I could not escape a wounded spirit.”

“Well, my dear,” said her father, gently, “I appreciate your courage and devotion, and I should indeed miss you.  We’ll await further developments.”