He, too, was terribly incensed.  He had come to interpose his life between her and danger, and her words and manner had probed a deep wound that had long been bleeding.  The scenes he had witnessed had wrought him up to a mood as stern and uncompromising as the death he soon expected to meet.  When utterly off her guard she had shown him, as he believed, her utter contempt and detestation, and at that moment there was not a more reckless man in the city.

But his bitter words and indomitable will had quieted her As he stood motionless upon guard by the window, his was not the attitude of a cowering fugitive.  She now admitted that her wild excitement and her disposition to rush to her father, contrary to his injunction, were unworthy of her friends and of herself.

There had been panic that morning in the city, and she had caught the contagion in a characteristic way.  She had had no thought of hiding and cowering, but she had been on the eve of carrying out rash impulses.  She had given way to uncontrollable excitement; and if her father should learn all she feared he would send her from the city as one not to be trusted.  What should she think of that silent, motionless sentinel at the window?  Suppose, after all, she had misunderstood and misjudged him,—­suppose he had come for her protection.  In view of this possibility which she had now to entertain, how grossly she had insulted him!  If her father came and approved of his course, how could she ever look one so wronged in the face again?  She must try to soften her words a little.  Woman-like, she believed that she could certainly soothe a man as far as she deemed it judicious, and then leave the future for further diplomacy.  Coward, or not, he had now made her afraid of him.

“Mr. Merwyn,” she began.

He made no response whatever.

Again, in a lower and more timid voice, she repeated his name.

Without turning, he said:  “Miss Vosburgh, I’m on guard.  You interfere with my duty.  There is no reason for further courtesies between us.  If you are sufficiently calm, aid Mrs. Borden in packing such belongings as she actually needs.  She must leave this house as soon as possible.”

“What!” cried the girl, hotly, “send this faithful old woman out into the streets?  Never.”

“I did not say, ‘out into the streets.’  When your father comes one of his first efforts will be to send her to a place of safety.  No doubt he has already warned her son to find a hiding-place.”

“Great heavens! why don’t you explain?”

“What chance have I had to explain?  Ah! come here, and all will be plain enough.”

She stood at his side and saw a gang of men and boys’ chasing a colored man, with the spirit of bloodhounds in their tones and faces.

“Now I’se understan’, too, Mass’r Merwyn,” said the trembling colored woman, looking over their shoulders.

“Go back,” he said, sternly.  “If you were seen, that yelling pack of fiends would break into this house as if it were paste-board.  Obey orders, both of you, and keep out of sight.”