As he recovered health her stronger sympathy went out to Mr. Lane, who had not asked for leave of absence.

“I am rampantly well,” he wrote, “and while my heart often travels northward, I can find no plausible pretext to follow.  I may receive a wound before long which will give me a good excuse, since, for our regiment, there is prospect of much active service while the infantry remain in winter quarters.  It is a sad truth that the army is discouraged and depleted to a degree never known before.  Homesickness is epidemic.  A man shot himself the other day because refused a furlough.  Desertions have been fearfully numerous among enlisted men, and officers have urged every possible excuse for leaves of absence.  A man with my appetite stands no chance whatever, and our regimental surgeon laughs when I assure him that I am suffering from acute heart-disease.  Therefore, my only hope is a wound, and I welcome our prospective raid in exchange for dreary picket duty.”

Marian knew what picket duty and raiding meant in February weather, and wrote words of kindly warmth that sustained her friend through hard, prosaic service.

She also saw that her father was burdened with heavy cares and responsibilities.  Disloyal forces and counsels were increasing in the great centres at the North, and especially in New York City.  Therefore he was intrusted with duties of the most delicate and difficult nature.  It was her constant effort to lead him to forget his anxieties during such evenings as he spent at home, and when she had congenial callers she sometimes prevailed upon him to take part in the general conversation.  It so happened, one evening, that Strahan and Merwyn were both present.  Seeing that the latter felt a little de trop, Mr. Vosburgh invited him to light a cigar in the dining-room, and the two men were soon engaged in animated talk, the younger being able to speak intelligently of the feeling in England at the time.  By thoughtful questions he also drew out his host in regard to affairs at home.

The two guests departed together, and Marian, observing the pleased expression on her father’s face, remarked, “You have evidently found a congenial spirit.”

“I found a young fellow who had ideas and who was not averse to receiving more.”

“You can relieve my conscience wholly, papa,” said the young girl, laughing.  “When Mr. Merwyn comes hereafter I shall turn him over to you.  He will then receive ideas and good influence at their fountain-head.  You and mamma are inclined to give him so much encouragement that I must be more on the defensive than ever.”

“That policy would suit me exactly,” replied her father, with a significant little nod.  “I don’t wish to lose you, and I’m more afraid of Merwyn than of all the rest together.”

“More afraid of him!” exclaimed the girl, with widening eyes.

“Of him.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t understand him.”