III
"First of all," she said, "how long may you remain? Will you dine with us, or what?"
"I shall be most pleased. I have several days. His Excellency has gone to Hartford to engage in conference. It was intended that I should accompany the staff. I begged leave, however, to return to Philadelphia."
They were seated on the sofa in the distant corner of the parlor. They were quite alone now for the first time, the mother having asked to be excused after many minutes with the announcement that since he would be pleased to remain, the supper must needs be prepared. No, Marjorie need not help her. She might entertain Captain Meagher.
"It's glorious to see you again," he said, sitting down beside her after Mrs. Allison had departed from the room.
"I am glad you have come," she replied softly, rubbing her hand across her apron as if to arrange it neatly.
"But you knew that I would come, didn't you?"
"I thought so."
"And yet I greatly feared that it would not be possible. Preparations are being made for the final campaign, and it is expected that the French will be asked to play an important part."
"It was very generous of His Excellency to grant you leave."
He began to smile.
"Could you guess how I obtained it?" he asked.
She turned to regard him.
"What have you done?" she asked soberly.
"Showed him your letter."
"Stephen!" she gasped as she drew back.
Neither spoke. He continued to smile at her apparent concern, while she stared at him.
"Do you mean it?" she asked; then quickly—"or are you teasing?"
"I did. I showed the letter to him, and asked if I might return to you."
"He read it?"
"There! There! I am joking. He did not read it, but I did have it in my hand, and I told him about you and that I was going back to take you with me."
Satisfied, she allowed herself to assume a more relaxed composure.
"You are going to destroy it, aren't you?"
He took it from his pocket and looked at it. She, too, glanced at it, and then at him.
"May I keep it? I treasure every word of it, you know."
"Did you but know how it was composed, you might ridicule me."
"I suppose you closed yourself behind some great veil to shut out the world from your view. Your mind toiled with thought until you were resolved upon the heroic. There was no scheme nor formula; your quill ran on and on in obedience to the flood of ideas which inspired it."
She lapsed into meditation; but she recovered herself immediately.
"No," she shook her head slowly though steadily. "At midnight with the aid of a little candle which burned itself out quite before the end."
He looked up sharply.
"That night?"
She nodded.
He put his arms around her and drew her close. She made no resistance, but allowed herself to fall into his embrace.
"Marjorie!" he whispered.
She yielded both her hands to his grasp and felt them compressed within it.
"You were not hurt at my seeming indiscretion?"
"I told you in my letter that I was not."
"Then you do love me?"
She drew back a little as if to glance at him.
"You know that I do," was the soft, reassuring answer.
"Won't you let me hear you say it?" he pleaded.
Reaching out, she put both arms about him and offered her lips to his, whispering at the same time only what he was destined to hear.
Presently the old clock began to strike the hour of five.