She ran to the kitchen herself to see that it was of the best possible quality, and Merwyn, sinking into a chair, looked gloomily at his host and said: "We have made little if any progress. The mob grows more reckless and devilish."
"My dear fellow," cried Mr. Vosburgh, "the Seventh Regiment will be here to-night, and others are on the way;" and he told of the reassuring tidings he had received.
"Thank Heaven for your news! I have been growing despondent during the last few hours."
"Take this and cheer up," cried Marian. "The idea of your being despondent! You are only tired to death, and will have a larger appetite for fighting to-morrow, I fear, than ever."
"No; I witnessed a scene this evening that made me sick of it all. Of course I shall do my duty to the end, but I wish that others could finish it up. More than ever I envy your friends who can fight soldiers;" and then he told them briefly of the scene witnessed in the rescue of Mammy Borden and her son.
"Oh, horrible! horrible!" exclaimed the girl. "Where are they now?"
"I took them from headquarters to a hospital. They both need the best surgical attention, though poor Zeb, I fear, is past help."
"Merwyn," said Mr. Vosburgh, gravely, "you incurred a fearful risk in taking those people through the streets."
"I suppose so," replied the young fellow, quietly; "but in a sense they were a part of your household, and the poor creatures were in such a desperate plight that—"
"Mr. Merwyn," cried Marian, a warm flush mantling her face, "you are a true knight. You have perilled your life for the poor and humble."