"Can I ask ye," inquired Jim in a voice that indicated timidity, "will this affair--I mean, d'ye s'ppse this thing 'll bring us t' eny harm, 'r thet they'll be a disorder?"
"Do they observe the courtesies of the law? If it comes to the worst, yes,--there will be a scene and the grandest scene in which a villain ever participated."
Marjorie entering through the gate posts immediately commanded their attention.
"I should be happy to be permitted to accompany you home," Stephen whispered to her at a moment when they chanced to be alone.
"I should be happy to have you," was the soft response.
"You look well," she said to him after they had made their adieus to the Cadwaladers and begun their walk together down the street.
Her eyes twinkled, and a pretty smile stole across her face.
"I am as tired as I can be. I have endured some trying experiences."
"Can you not leave here and take a rest? I fear that you will overtax yourself."
"Yes. I mean it. Do you know that I have allowed no day to pass without praying for you?"
"To know that, and to hear you say it is worth a series of adventures. But, really, I could not think of leaving here now; not for another fortnight at least. The moments are too critical."
"Are you still engaged in that pressing business?"
"For your success in that I have also prayed."
She was constant after all, he thought. Still he wondered if she could be sincere in her protestations, and at the same time remain true to Anderson. For he really believed that she had been deceived by his apparent infatuation.
"I suppose you know that Jim has been ensnared?" he asked suddenly.
"Not yet. But he has signed the papers of enlistment."
"I am sorry, very sorry." Then after a pause: "It was I who brought Anderson to Jim's house, you know."
"But I must confess that I did not know the nature of his errand. I, myself, was seeking an advantage."
"No matter. It may eventually redound to our credit."
"I regret exceedingly of having been the occasion of Jim's misfortune."
Her eyes were cast down, her head bent forward as she walked in what one might characterize a meditative mood.
"I, too, am sorry. But there are others."
"That I do not know. Later I shall tell you."
It was a troublesome situation in which the two found themselves. Here were two souls who loved each other greatly, yet without being able to arrive at a mutual understanding on the subject. They were separated by a filmy veil. The girl, naturally frank and unreserved, was intimidated by the restrained and melancholy mien of her companion. Yet she felt constrained to speak lest deception might be charged against her. Stephen, troubled in his own mind over the supposed unfavorable condition of affairs, skeptical of the affections of his erstwhile confidante, felt, too, a like necessity to be open and explain all.
