last he thought of Strahan, and telegraphed to Mrs. Strahan, at her country place, asking if she had heard from her son.  Soon, after receiving a negative answer, he saw, in the long lists of casualties, the brief, vague statement that Marian had found.  The thought then occurred to him that he might go to Gettysburg and search for Strahan.  Anything would be better than inaction.  He believed that he would have time to go and return before his mother’s arrival, and, if he did not, he would leave directions for her reception.  The prospect of doing something dispelled his apathy, and the hope of being of service to his friend had decided attractions, for he had now become sincerely attached to Strahan.  He therefore rapidly made his preparations to depart that very night, but decided first to see Marian, thinking it possible that she might have received some later intelligence.  Therefore, although very doubtful of his reception, he had ventured to call, hoping that Marian’s interest in her friend might secure for him a slight semblance of welcome.  He was relieved when she greeted him gravely, quietly, but not coldly.

He at once stated his purpose, and asked if she had any information that would guide him in his search.  Although she shook her head and told him that she knew nothing beyond what she had seen in the paper, he saw with much satisfaction that her face lighted up with hope and eagerness, and that she approved of his effort.  While explaining his intentions he had not sat down, but now she cordially asked him to be seated and to give his plans more in detail.

“I fear you will find fearful confusion and difficulty in reaching the field,” she said.

“I have no fears,” he replied.  “I shall go by rail as far as possible, then hire or purchase a horse.  The first list of casualties is always made up hastily, and I have strong hopes of finding Strahan in one of the many extemporized hospitals, or, at least, of getting some tidings of him.”

“One thing is certain,” she added, kindly,—­“you have proved that if you do find him, he will have a devoted nurse.”

“I shall do my best for him,” he replied, quietly.  “If he has been taken from the field and I can learn his whereabouts, I shall follow him.”

The color caused by his first slight embarrassment had faded away, and Marian exclaimed, “Mr. Merwyn, you are either ill or have been ill.”

“Oh, no,” he said, carelessly; “I have only shared in the general excitement and anxiety.  I am satisfied that we have but barely escaped a serious outbreak in this city.”

“I think you are right,” she answered, gravely, and her thought was:  “He is indeed to be pitied if a few weeks of fearful expectation have made him so pale and haggard.  It has probably cost him a tremendous effort to remain in the city where he has so much at stake.”

After a moment’s silence Merwyn resumed:  “I shall soon take my train.  Would you not like to write a few lines to Strahan?  As I told you, in effect, once before, they may prove the best possible tonic in case I find him.”