There was sorrow in his tone, and the young girl paused awhile and gazed through the lattice earnestly into the gathering gloom of evening.

“We must not be strangers, Mr. Wayne.”

“Alas! yes, for to be otherwise were fatal, at least to me.”

She did not answer, and both remained silent and thoughtful, so long, indeed, that the night shadows obscured the room.  Oriana arose and lit the lamp.

“I must go and prepare some supper for you,” she said, in a lighter tone.

He took her hand as she stood at his bed-side and spoke in a low but earnest voice: 

“You must forget what I have said to you, Miss Weems.  I am weak and feverish, and my brain has been wandering among misty dreams.  If I have spoken indiscreetly, you will forgive me, will you not?”

“It is I that am to be forgiven, for allowing my patient to talk when the doctor prescribes silence.  I am going to get your supper, for I am sure you must be hungry; so, good bye,” she added gaily, as she smoothed the pillow, and glided from the room.  Oriana was silent and reserved for some days after this, and Harold seemed also to be disturbed and ill at ease.  Some link appeared to be broken between them, for she did not look into his eyes with the same frank, trusting gaze that had so often returned his glance of tenderness, and sometimes even she looked furtively away with heightened color, when, with some gentle commonplace, his voice broke in upon her meditation.  Arthur was now able to sit for some hours daily in his easy-chair, and Oriana often came to him at such times, and although they conversed but rarely, and upon indifferent themes, she was never weary of reading to him, at his request, some favorite book.  And sometimes, as the author’s sentiment found an echo in her heart, she would pause and gaze listlessly at the willow branches that waved before the casement, and both would remain silent and pensive, till some member of the family entered, and broke in upon their revery.

“Come, Oriana,” said Harold, one afternoon, “let us walk to the top of yonder hillock, and look at this glorious sunset.”

She went for her bonnet and shawl, and joined him.  They had reached the summit of the hill before either of them broke silence, and then Oriana mechanically made some commonplace remark about the beauty of the western sky.  He replied with a monosyllable, and sat down upon a moss-covered rock.  She plucked a few wild-flowers, and toyed with them.

“Oriana, Arthur is much better now.”

“Much better, Harold.”

“I have no fears for his safety now.  I think I shall go to-morrow.”

“Go, Harold?”

“Yes, to New York.  The President has appealed to the States for troops.  I am no soldier, but I cannot remain idle while my fellow citizens are rallying to arms.”

“Will you fight, Harold?”

“If needs be.”

“Against your countrymen?”