And so it had been arranged, and the old lawyer sat down to dinner with Mrs. Merwyn, paying her the courtly deference which, while it gratified her pride, was accepted as a matter of course—­as a part of her husband’s legacy.  He had soon afterwards taken his departure, leaving his young client in a most complacent and satisfactory mood.

It may thus be seen that Merwyn was not an unnatural product of the influences which had until now guided his life and formed his character.  The reminiscences of his father’s friend had greatly increased his sense of magnanimity in his intentions towards Marian.  In the overweening pride of youth he felt as if he were almost regally born and royally endowed, and that a career was opening before him in which he should prove his lofty superiority to those whose heads were turned by the hurly-burly of the hour.  Young as he was, he had the sense to be in accord with wise old age, that looked beyond the clouds and storm in which so many would be wrecked.  Nay, even more, from those very wrecks he would gather wealth.

“The time and opportunity for cool heads,” he smilingly assured himself, “is when men are parting with judgment and reason.”

Such was his spirit when he sought the presence of the girl whose soul was keyed up to almost a passion of self-sacrifice.  His mind belittled the cause for which her idolized father was, at that moment, perilling his life, and to which her dearest friends had consecrated themselves.  He was serene in congratulating himself that “little Strahan” had gone, and that the storm would prevent the presence of other interlopers.

Although the room was lighted as usual, he had not waited many moments before a slight chill fell upon his sanguine mood.  The house was so still, and the rain dripped and the wind sighed so dismally without, that a vague presentiment of evil began to assert itself.  Heretofore he had found the apartment full of life and mirth, and he could not help remembering that some who had been its guests might now be out in the storm.  Would she think of this also?

The parlor was scarcely in its usual pretty order, and no flowers graced the table.  Evidently no one was expected.  “All the better,” he assured himself; “and her desolation will probably incline her the more to listen to one who can bring golden gleams on such a dreary night.”

A daily paper, with heavy headlines, lay on a chair near him.  The burden of these lines was defeat, carnage, death.

They increased the slight chill that was growing upon him, and made him feel that possibly the story of his birth and greatness which he had hoped to tell might be swallowed up by this other story which fascinated him with its horror.

A slight rustle caused him to look up, and Marian stood before him.  Throwing aside the paper as if it were an evil spell, he rose, would have offered his hand had there been encouragement, but the girl merely bowed and seated herself as she said:  “Good-evening, Mr. Merwyn.  You are brave to venture out in such a storm.”