An Original Belle Part 29

"I don't believe he will ever come near me again!" she exclaimed.

"Then you are absolved in the future. Of course we can make no advances towards a man who has been your suitor."

Merwyn's course promised to fulfil her fear,--she now acknowledged to herself that it was a fear,--for his visits ceased. She tried to dismiss him from her thoughts, but a sense of her unfairness and harshness haunted her. She did not see why she had not taken her father's view, or why she had thrown away her influence that accorded with the scheme of life to which she had pledged herself.

The very restraint indicated by his words was a mystery, and mysteries are fascinating. She remembered, with compunction, that not even his own mother had sought to develop a true, manly spirit in him. "Now he is saying," she thought, bitterly, "that I, too, am a fanatic,--worse than his mother."

Weeks pa.s.sed and she heard nothing from him, nor did her father mention his name. While her regret was distinct and positive, it must not be supposed that it gave her serious trouble. Indeed, the letters of Mr. Lane, and the semi-humorous journal of Strahan and Blauvelt, together with the general claims of society and her interest in her father's deep anxieties, were fast banis.h.i.+ng it from her mind, when, to her surprise, his card was handed to her one stormy afternoon, late in January.

"I am sorry to intrude upon you, Miss Vosburgh," he began, as she appeared, "but--"

"Why should you regard it as an intrusion, Mr. Merwyn?"

"I think a lady has a right to regard any unwelcome society as an intrusion."

"Admitting even so much, it does not follow that this is an intrusion,"

she said, laughing. Then she added, with slightly heightened color: "Mr. Merwyn, I must at least keep my own self-respect, and this requires an acknowledgment. I was rude to you when you last called.

But I was morbid from anxiety and worry over what was happening.

I had no right to grant your request to call upon me and then fail in courtesy."

"Will you, then, permit me to renew my old request?" he asked, with an eagerness that he could not disguise.

"Certainly not. That would imply such utter failure on my part! You should be able to forgive me one slip, remembering the circ.u.mstances."

"You have the most to forgive," he replied, humbly. "I asked for little more than toleration, but I felt that I had not the right to force even this upon you."

"I am glad you are inclined to be magnanimous," she replied, laughing. "Women usually take advantage of that trait in men--when they manifest it. We'll draw a line through the evening of the 20th of December, and, as Jefferson says, in his superb impersonation of poor old Rip, 'It don't count.' By the way, have you seen him?"

she asked, determined that the conversation should take a different channel.

"No; I have been busy of late. But pardon me, Miss Vosburgh, I'm forgetting my errand shamefully. Do not take the matter too seriously. I think you have no reason to do so. Mr. Strahan is in the city and is ill. I have just come from him."

Her face paled instantly, and she sank into a chair.

"I beg of you not to be so alarmed," he added, hastily. "I shall not conceal anything from you. By the merest chance I saw him coming up Broadway in a carriage, and, observing that he looked ill, jumped into a hack and followed him to his residence. You had reason for your anxiety on December 20th, for he took a severe cold from exposure that night. For a time he made light of it, but at last obtained sick-leave. He asked me to tell you--"

"He has scarcely mentioned the fact that he was not well;" and there was an accent of reproach in the young girl's tones.

"I understand Strahan better than I once did, perhaps because better able to understand him," was Merwyn's quiet reply. "He is a brave, generous fellow, and, no doubt, wished to save you from anxiety.

There has been no chance for him to say very much to me."

"Was he expected by his family?"

"They were merely informed, by a telegram, that he was on his way.

He is not so well as when he started. Naturally he is worse for the journey. Moreover, he used these words, 'I felt that I was going to be ill and wished to get home.'"

"Has a physician seen him yet?"

"Yes, I brought their family physician in the hack, which I had kept waiting. He fears that it will be some time before his patient is out again. I have never been seriously ill myself, but I am sure--I mean, I have heard--that a few words often have great influence in aiding one in Strahan's condition to triumph over disease. It is often a question of will and courage, you know. I will take a note to him if you wish. Poor fellow! he may have his biggest fight on hand while the others are resting in winter quarters."

"I shall be only too glad to avail myself of your offer. Please excuse me a moment."

When she returned he saw traces of tears in her eyes. She asked, eagerly, "Will you see him often?"

"I shall call daily."

"Would it be too much trouble for you to let me know how he is, should he be very seriously ill?" Then, remembering that this might lead to calls more frequent than she was ready to receive, or than he would find it convenient to make, she added: "I suppose you are often down town and might leave word with papa at his office.

I have merely a formal acquaintance with Mrs. Strahan and her daughters, and, if Mr. Strahan should be very ill, I should have to rely upon you for information."

"I shall make sure that you learn of his welfare daily until he is able to write to you, and I esteem it a privilege to render you this service."

He then bowed and turned away, and she did not detain him. Indeed, her mind was so absorbed by her friend's danger that she could not think of much else.

The next day a note, addressed to Mr. Vosburgh, was left at his office, giving fuller particulars of Strahan's illness, which threatened to be very serious indeed. High fever had been developed, and the young soldier had lost all intelligent consciousness. Days followed in which this fever was running its course, and Merwyn's reports, ominous in spite of all effort to disguise the deep anxiety felt by Strahan's friends, were made only through Mr. Vosburgh.

Marian began to regret her suggestion that the information should come in this way, for she now felt that Merwyn had received the impression that his presence would not be agreeable. She was eager for more details and oppressed with the foreboding that she would never see her light-hearted friend again. She was almost tempted to ask Merwyn to call, but felt a strange reluctance to do so.

"I gave him sufficient encouragement to continue his visits," she thought, "and he should distinguish between the necessity of coming every day and the privilege of coming occasionally."

One evening her father looked very grave as he handed Marian the note addressed to him.

"O papa!" exclaimed the girl, "he's worse!"

"Yes, I fear Strahan is in a very critical condition. I happened to meet Merwyn when he left the note to-day, and the young fellow himself looked haggard and ill. But he carelessly a.s.sured me that he was perfectly well. He said that the crisis of Strahan's fever was approaching, and that the indications were bad."

"Papa!" cried the girl, tearfully, "I can't endure this suspense and inaction. Why would it be bad taste for us to call on Mrs.

Strahan this evening? She must know how dear a friend Arthur is to me. I don't care for conventionality in a case like this. It seems cold-blooded to show no apparent interest, and it might do Arthur good if he should learn that we had been there because of our anxiety and sympathy."

"Well, my dear, what you suggest is the natural and loyal course, and therefore outweighs all conventionality in my mind. We'll go after dinner."

Marian's doubt as to her reception by Mrs. Strahan was speedily dispelled, for the sorrow-stricken mother was almost affectionate in her welcome.

"Arthur, in his delirium, often mentions your name," she said, "and then he is in camp or battle again, or else writing his journal.

I have thought of sending for you, but he wouldn't have known you.

He does not even recognize me, and has not for days. Our physician commands absolute quiet and as little change in those about him as possible. What we should have done without Mr. Merwyn I scarcely know. He is with him now, and has watched every night since Arthur's return. I never saw any one so changed, or else we didn't understand him. He is tireless in his strength, and womanly in his patience.

His vigils are beginning to tell on him sadly, but he says that he will not give up till the crisis is past. If Arthur lives he will owe his life largely to one who, last summer, appeared too indolent to think of anything but his own pleasure. How we often misjudge people! They were boys and playmates together, and are both greatly changed. O Miss Vosburgh, my heart just stands still with dread when I think of what may soon happen. Arthur had become so manly, and we were so proud of him! He has written me more than once of your influence, and I had hoped that the way might open for our better acquaintance."

"Do you think the crisis may come to-night?" Marian asked, with quivering lips.

"Yes, it may come now at any hour. The physician will remain all night."

"Oh, I wish I might know early in the morning. Believe me, I shall not sleep."

"You shall know, Miss Vosburgh, and I hope you will come and see me, whatever happens. You will please excuse me now, for I cannot be away from Arthur at this time. I would not have seen any one but you."

At one o'clock in the morning there was a ring at Mr. Vosburgh's door. He opened it, and Merwyn stood there wrapped in his fur cloak. "Will you please give this note to Miss Vosburgh?" he said.

"I think it contains words that will bring welcome relief and hope.

I would not have disturbed you at this hour had I not seen your light burning;" and, before Mr. Vosburgh could reply, he lifted his hat and strode away.

The note ran as follows:

"MY DEAR MISS VOSBURGH:--Arthur became conscious a little before twelve. He was fearfully weak, and for a time his life appeared to flicker. I alone was permitted to be with him. After a while I whispered that you had been here. He smiled and soon fell into a quiet sleep. Our physician now gives us strong hopes.