It did no good--the old man was determined to look upon his niece as a
heroine worthy to stand by the side of Joan of Arc.
"For," said he, "was it not the soul of a heroine that enabled her to
stay and guard the house; and would the college company ever have come
to the rescue of these old walls if they had not heard that she had
resolutely remained to guard them and was almost alone in the house?
Don't tell me! Edith is the star maiden of old St. Mary's, and I'm proud
of her! She is worthy to be my niece and heiress! A true descendant of
Marie Zelenski, is she! And I'll tell you what I'll do, Edith!" he said,
turning to her, "I'll reward you, my dear! I will. I'll marry you to
Professor Grimshaw! That's what I'll do, my dear! And you both shall
have Luckenough; that you shall!"
Months passed--the war was over--peace was proclaimed, and still the
young ensign, an invalid, unable to travel, lingered at Luckenough.
Regularly he received his pay; twice he received an extension of leave
of absence; and all through the instrumentality of--Thorg. Yet all this
filled Edith with the greatest uneasiness and foreboding--ungrateful,
incomprehensible, yet impossible to be delivered from.
CHAPTER IV.
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