An Original Belle

  SUBORDINATE only to her father and two chief friends, in Marian'sthoughts, was her enemy, for as such she now regarded Willard Merwyn.She had felt his attentions to be humiliating from the first. Theyhad presented her former life, in which her own amusement and pleasurehad been her chief thought, in another and a very disagreeablelight. These facts alone would have been sufficient to awaken avindictive feeling, for she was no saint. In addition, she bitterlyresented his indifference to a cause made so dear by her father'sdevotion and her friends' brave self-sacrifice. Whatever hismotive might be, she felt that he was cold-blooded, cowardly, ordisloyal, and such courtesy as she showed him was due to little elsethan the hope of inflicting upon him some degree of humiliation.She had seen too many manifestations of honest interest and ardentlove to credit him with any such emotion, and she had no scruplesin wounding his pride to the utmost.

  Meanwhile events in the bloody drama of the war were culminating.The Union officers were thought to have neither the wisdom to fightat the right time nor the discretion to retreat when fighting wasworse than useless. In consequence thousands of brave men werebelieved by many to have died in vain once more on the ill-fatedfield of Bull Run.

  One morning, the last of August, Strahan galloped to the Vosburghcottage and said to Marian, who met him at the door: "Orders havecome. I have but a few minutes in which to say good-by. Thingshave gone wrong in Virginia, and every available man is wanted inWashington."

  His flushed face was almost as fair as her own, and gave him a boyishaspect in spite of his military dress, but unhesitating resolutionand courage beamed from his eyes.

  "Oh, that I were a man!" Marian cried, "and you would have company.All those who are most to me will soon be perilling their lives."

  "Guess who has decided to go with me almost at the last moment."

  "Mr. Blauvelt?"

  "Yes; I told him that he was too high-toned to carry a musket,but he said he would rather go as a private than as an officer. Hewishes no responsibility, he says, and, beyond mere routine duty,intends to give all his time and thoughts to art. I am satisfiedthat I have you to thank for this recruit."

  "Indeed, I have never asked him to take part in the war."

  "No need of your asking any one in set terms. A man would have tobe either a coward, or else a rebel at heart, like Merwyn, to resistyour influence. Indeed, I think it is all the stronger becauseyou do not use it openly and carelessly. Every one who comes hereknows that your heart is in the cause, and that you would have beenalmost a veteran by this time were you of our sex. Others, besidesBlauvelt, obtained the impulse in your presence which decided them.Indeed, your drawing-room has been greatly thinned, and it almostlooks as if few would be left to haunt it except Merwyn."

  "I do not think he will haunt it much longer, and I should prefersolitude to his society."

  "Well," laughed Strahan, "I think you will have a chance to putone rebel to rout before I do. I don't blame you, remembering yourfeeling, but Merwyn probably saved my life, and I gave him myhand in a final truce. Friends we cannot be while he maintains hispresent cold reserve. As you told me, he said he would have doneas much for any one, and his manner since has chilled any gratefulregard on my part. Yet I am under deep obligations, and hereafterwill never do or say anything to his injury."

  "Don't trouble yourself about Mr. Merwyn, Arthur. I have my ownpersonal score to settle with him. He has made a good foil foryou and my other friends, and I have learned to appreciate you themore. YOU have won my entire esteem and respect, and have taught mehow quickly a noble, self-sacrificing purpose can develop manhood.O Arthur, Heaven grant that we may all meet again! How proud Ishall then be of my veteran friends! and of you most of all. Youare triumphing over yourself, and you have won the respect of everyone in this community."

  "If I ever become anything, or do anything, just enter half thecredit in your little note-book," he said, flushing with pleasure.

  "I shall not need a note-book to keep in mind anything that relatesto you. Your courage has made me a braver, truer girl. Arthur,please, you won't get reckless in camp? I want to think of youalways as I think of you now. When time hangs heavy on your hands,would it give you any satisfaction to write to me?"

  "Indeed it will," cried the young officer. "Let me make a suggestion.I will keep a rough journal of what occurs and of the scenes wepass through, and Blauvelt will illustrate it. How should you likethat? It will do us both good, and will be the next best thing torunning in of an evening as we have done here."

  Marian was more than pleased with the idea. When at last Strahansaid farewell, he went away with every manly impulse strengthened,and his heart warmed by the evidences of her genuine regard.

  In the afternoon Blauvelt called, and, with Marian and her mother,drove to the station to take part in an ovation to Captain Strahanand his company. The artist had affairs to arrange in the citybefore enlisting, and proposed to enter the service at Washington.

  The young officer bore up bravely, but when he left his mother andsisters in tears, his face was stern with effort. Marian observed,however, that his last glance from the platform of the cars restedupon herself. She returned home depressed and nervously excited,and there found additional cause for solicitude in a letter fromher father informing her of the great disaster to Union arms whichpoor generalship had invited. This, as she then felt, would havebeen bad enough, but in a few tender, closing words, he told her thatthey might not hear from him in some time, as he had been orderedon a service that required secrecy and involved some danger. Mrs.Vosburgh was profuse in her lamentations and protests against herhusband's course, but Marian went to her room and sobbed untilalmost exhausted.

  Her nature, however, was too strong, positive, and unchastened tofind relief in tears, or to submit resignedly. Her heart was fullof bitterness and revolt, and her partisanship was becoming almostas intense as that of Mrs. Merwyn.

  The afternoon closed with a dismal rain-storm, which added to herdepression, while relieving her from the fear of callers. "O dear!"she exclaimed, as she rose from the mere form of supper, "I haveboth head-ache and heart-ache. I am going to try to get throughthe rest of this dismal day in sleep."

  "Marian, do, at least, sit an hour or two with me. Some one maycome and divert your thoughts."

  "No one can divert me to-night. It seems as if an age had passedsince we came here in June."

  "Your father knows how alone we are in the world, with no nearrelatives to call upon. I think he owes his first duty to us."

  "The men of the North, who are right, should be as ready tosacrifice everything as the men of the South, who are wrong; and soalso should Northern women. I am proud of the fact that my fatheris employed and trusted by his government. The wrong rests withthose who caused the war."

  "Every man can't go and should not go. The business of the countrymust be carried on just the same, and rich business men areas important as soldiers. I only wish that, in our loneliness andwith the future so full of uncertainty, you would give sensibleencouragement to one abundantly able to give you wealth and thehighest position."

  "Mr. Merwyn?"

  "Yes, Mr. Merwyn," continued her mother, with an emphasis somewhatirritable. "He is not an old, worn-out millionnaire, like Mr.Lanniere. He is young, exceedingly handsome, so high-born that heis received as an equal in the houses of the titled abroad. He hascome to me like an honorable man, and asked for the privilege ofpaying his addresses. He would have asked your father had he beenin town. He was frank about his affairs, and has just received,in his own name, a very large property, which he proposes to doubleby entering upon business in New York."

  "What does his mother think of his intentions toward me?" the younggirl asked, so quietly, that Mrs. Vosburgh was really encouraged.

  "He says that he and his mother differ on many points, and willdiffer on this one, and that is all he seemed inclined to say,except to remark significantly that he had attained his majority."

  "It was he whom you meant, when yo
u said that some one might comewho would divert my thoughts?"

  "I think he would have come, had it not been for the storm."

  "Mamma, you have not given him any encouragement? You have notcompromised yourself, or me?"

  Mrs. Vosburgh bridled with the beginnings of resentment, and said,"Marian, you should know me too well--"

  "There, there, mamma, I was wrong to think of such a thing; I askyour pardon."

  "I may have my sensible wishes and preferences," resumed the lady,complacently, "but I have never yet acted the role of the anxious,angling mamma. I cannot help wishing, however, that you wouldconsider favorably an offer like this one, and I certainly couldnot treat Mr. Merwyn otherwise than with courtesy."

  "That was right and natural of you, mamma. You have no controversywith Mr. Merwyn; I have. I hate and detest him. Well, since he maycome, I shall dress and be prepared."

  "O Marian! you are so quixotic!"

  "Dear mamma, you are mistaken. Do not think me inconsiderate ofyou. Some day I will prove I am not by my marriage, if I marry;"and she went to her mother and kissed her tenderly.

  Then by a sudden transition she drew herself up with the dark,inscrutable expression that was becoming characteristic since deeperexperiences had entered into her life, and said, firmly:--

  "Should I do as you suggest, I should be false to those true friendswho have gone to fight, perhaps to die; false to my father; falseto all that's good and true in my own soul. As to my heart," sheconcluded, with a contemptuous shrug, "that has nothing to do withthe affair. Mamma, you must promise me one thing. I do not wishyou to meet Mr. Merwyn to-night. Please excuse yourself if he asksfor you. I will see him."

  "Mark my words, Marian, you will marry a poor man."

  "Oh, I have no objection to millionnaires," replied the girl,with a short, unmirthful laugh, "but they must begin their suit ina manner differing from that of two who have favored me;" and shewent to her room.

  As Merwyn resembled his deceased parent, so Marian had inheritednot a little of her father's spirit and character. Until withinthe last few months her mother's influence had been predominant,and the young girl had reflected the social conventionalities towhich she was accustomed. No new traits had since been created. Herincreasing maturity had rendered her capable of revealing qualitiesinherent in her nature, should circumstances evoke them. The flower,as it expands, the plant as it grows, is apparently very different,yet the same. The stern, beautiful woman who is arraying herselfbefore her mirror, as a soldier assumes his arms and equipments, isthe same with the thoughtless, pleasure-loving girl whom we firstmet in her drawing-room in June; but months of deep and almosttragic experience have called into activity latent forces receivedfrom her father's soul,--his power of sustained action, of resolutepurpose, of cherishing high ideals, and of white, quiet anger.

  Her toilet was scarcely completed when Willard Merwyn was announced.

  CHAPTER XV.

  SCORN.