Upon entering, their attention was at once arrested by the animated discussion in progress at a table in the nearest corner of the room. An officer of the Governor's Guard, in full regimentals, booted and spurred, in company with a gentleman, finely dressed, was talking loudly to Jim Cadwalader, who was seated before them holding a half-opened newspaper in his hand. It was plain to be seen that the soldier was somewhat under the influence of liquor, yet one could not call him intoxicated.

"Gi' me that an' I'll show y'," exclaimed the soldier as he grabbed the paper from Cadwalader's hand.

"Y' were told," he went on to read from it, "that it was t' avoid the 'stabl'shment 'r count'nancin'," he half mumbled the words, "of Pop'ry; an that Pop'ry was 'stabl'shed in Canada (where 't was only tol'rated). And is not Pop'ry now as much 'stabl'shed by law in your state 's any other rel'gion?" "Just what I was sayin'," he interpolated. "So that your Gov'nor and all your rulers may be Papists, and you may have a Mass-House in ev'ry corner o' your country (as some places already 'xper'ence)."

"There!" he snarled as he threw back the paper. "Isn't that what I wuz tryin' t' tell y'."

"You can't tell me nothin', Forrest," retorted Jim.

"Course I can't. Nobody kin. Y' know 't all."

"I can mind my own bus'ness."

"There y' are agin," shouted Forrest, "y' know 't all, ye do."

"Don't say that again," Jim flared back at him. "I'll—I'll—I'll——. Don't say it again, that's all."

"'Cause y' know 'ts true."

"It's a lie," Jim interrupted him. "Ye know it's a lie. But I don't 'spect much of ye, 'r of the Gov'nor either. None of ye 'll ever be Papists."

"Now you're talkin' sens'ble; first sens'ble thing you've said t'day. No Papists here if we kin help it."

Stephen and Mr. Allison, keenly interested in this remark, moved nearer to the table. Cadwalader was well known to Mr. Allison. The others were total strangers.

"What's he goin' t' do about the help from France? Refuse it 'cause it's from a Catholic country?" asked Jim.

"He don't like it and never did."

"Is he fool 'nough t' think we can win this war without help?"

"He won it once."

"When?"

"Saratoga."

"That's his story. We didn't have it won and it won't be won without troops and with somethin' besides shin-plasters." He turned sideways, crossed one leg over the other and began to drum upon the table.

"We must hev help," he went on. "We must hev it and it must come from France 'r Spain."

"They y' are agin," repeated Forrest, "as if one wuzn't as much under th' Pope as th' other."

"Forrest!" he turned toward him and shook his finger at him in a menacing sort of way. "Don't say that agin. Mind what I tell ye. Don't say it again—that's all. When I'm mad, I'm not myself."

"Is that so? I s'pose I'm wrong agin, an' you're right. Tell me this. What did yer fool leg'slature in Vi'ginya do th' other day?"

"I don't know," murmured Jim. "What did they do?"

"There y' are agin. I thought y' knew it all. Think y' know ev'rythin' an' y' know nothin'. Passed a resolution fur a Papist priest, didn't they?"

"And why?" pronounced Jim, flushed with anger, his lower lip quivering with emotion. "'Cause he did more fur his country, than you or I'll ever do. Father Gibault! And if it wazn't fur him, Colonel Clark'd never hev op'nd th' Northwest."

"That's just what I say. The Papists'll soon own the whole damn country."

Stephen and Mr. Allison moved as if to join the discussion, which had at this juncture become loud enough to lose the character of intimacy. Jim was well known to the guests of the house. The man who was known as Forrest, was, it was plain from his uniform, a Colonel in the army. The other man was a stranger. Much younger than his companion, tall, manly, clad in a suit of black, with his hair in full dress, well-powdered and gathered behind in a large silken bag, he gave every appearance of culture and refinement. He wore a black cocked hat, whose edges were adorned with a black feather about an inch in depth, his knees as well as his shoes adorned with silver buckles.

"If they did own th' country," was Jim's grave reply, "we'd hev a healthier place to live in than we now hev."

"An' whose doin' it?" shouted Forrest. "The Papists."

"Thou liest!" interrupted Mr. Allison, intruding himself into their midst, "a confounded lie. Remember, the Catholics have given their all to this war—their goods, their money, their sons."

"Heigh-ho! who're you?" asked the soldier. "What d' you know 'bout the army? Hardly 'nough 'f them to go aroun'."

"A malicious untruth. Why, half the rebel army itself is reported to have come from Ireland."

"How do you know?"

"From the testimony of General Robertson in the House of Lords. And if these soldiers are Irishmen, you can wager they're Catholics. And why should we pass laws 'gainst these crowds of Irish Papists and convicts who are yearly poured upon us, unless they were Catholic convicts fleeing from the laws of persecution?"

"What ails ye, Forrest," rejoined Jim, "can't be cured."

"Take care 'f yourself," angrily retorted the Colonel, "an' I'll take care o' myself."

"If ye did, and yer likes did the same, we'd git along better and the war'd be over. I s'pose ye know that yer friend Jay lost Canada to us."

"What if he did. Wazn't he right?"

And then he explained to him.

II

Canada had been surrendered to England by France in a clause of the Treaty of Paris in 1763, with a stipulation, however, that the people of the territory in question would be permitted the free use of the French language, the prescriptions of the French code of laws, and the practice of the Catholic religion.

South of this region and west of the English colonies between the Ohio and the Mississippi rivers, stretched a vast expanse of territory known as the Northwest Territory, where dwelt a large population without laws, with no organized form of government save the mere caprices of petty military tyrants, placed over them by the various seaboard colonies who severally laid claim to the district. At the request of the people of Canada it was voted by the English Parliament to reannex the territory northwest of the Ohio to Canada and to permit the settlers to share in the rights and privileges of the Canadian province. This was effected by the Quebec Act in 1774.

It was truly a remarkable concession. The inhabitants of this vast stretch of territory were freed for all time from the tyranny of military despots, their lands and churches secured to them and their priests given a legal title to their tithes. It was the freest exercise of the Catholic religion under the laws of the English Government.

But what a storm of abuse and protestation was raised by the fanatical portion of the Protestant population! The newspapers of the day abounded with articles, with songs and squibs against the King and His Parliament. The mother country witnessed no less virulent a campaign than the colonies themselves. "We may live to see our churches," writes one writer to the Pennsylvania Packet, "converted into mass-houses, and our lands plundered of tithes for the support of a Popish clergy. The Inquisition may erect her standard in Pennsylvania and the city of Philadelphia may yet experience the carnage of St. Bartholomew's day." Processions were formed about the country and in some places the bust of George III, adorned with miter, beads and a pectoral cross, was carried in triumphal march.

The forms of protest found their way ultimately into the halls of the First American Congress which convened in Philadelphia in 1774. The recent legislation was enumerated among the wrongs done the colonies by the mother country. Feeling became so bitter that an address was issued by the Congress on the fifth of September, 1774, "to the people of Great Britain" saying: "We think the Legislature of Great Britain is not authorized by the Constitution to establish a religion, fraught with sanguinary and impious tenets, or to erect an arbitrary form of government in any quarter of the globe." "By another act the Dominion of Canada is to be extended, modeled and governed, as that being disunited from us, detached from our interests by civil as well as religious prejudices, that by their numbers daily swelling with Catholic emigrants from Europe, and by their devotion to administration so friendly to their religion, they might become formidable to us, and on occasion be fit instruments in the hands of power to reduce the ancient free Protestant colonies to the same state of slavery with themselves." Little did they think that the breach they were attempting to heal was widened by their procedure. The author of the address was John Jay, a lawyer from New York, with whom Papaphobia was a mania.

Nor did the failure of this method of diplomacy become apparent until several years later. The measure of appreciation and the expression of sentiment of the Canadian people in regard to this ill-timed and unchristian address, conceived in a fit of passion and by no means representative of the sentiments of the saner portion of the population, took expression at a more critical time. When, in 1776, the members of the same Congress, viewing with alarm the magnitude of the struggle upon which they had entered and to whose success they had pledged their honor, their fortunes and their lives, sought to enlist the resources of their neighbors in Canada, they met with a sudden and calamitous disappointment. To effect an alliance with the border brethren, three commissioners were appointed—Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Chase, and Charles Carroll of Carrollton. Father John Carroll, a Jesuit priest, was invited by the Congress to accompany the party.

Arriving in Canada, it soon became evident to the committee, that their mission was to be unproductive of results. The government did not take kindly to them, nor would the Bishop of Quebec and his clergy trust the vague expressions of the United Colonies, whose statute books, they pointed out, still bore the most bitter and unchristian sentiments against all priests and adherents of the ancient church. Bigotry had apparently defeated their purpose. How it had done this was still quite obscure, until it was discovered that the British Government had taken John Jay's address, translated it into French and spread it broadcast throughout Canada. "Behold the spirit of the Colonists," it went on to remind the people, "and if you join forces with them, they will turn on you and extirpate your religion, in the same manner as they did in the Catholic colony of Maryland."

The effect is historical. The commissioners were compelled to return; the brave Montgomery was killed before the walls of the city; Canada was lost to the Colonies and forever forfeited as an integral part of the United States; all of which was due to the narrowness and intolerance of those who in the supreme hour could not refrain from the fanaticism of bigotry.

It must be said, however, out of justice to the colonists that they did not persist in their spirit of antagonism towards the Catholics. The commencement of the struggle against the common foe, together with the sympathetic and magnanimous concurrence of the Catholics with the patriots in all things, soon changed their prejudice in favor of a more united and vigorous effort in behalf of their joint claims. The despised Papists now became ardent and impetuous patriots. The leaders in the great struggle soon began to reflect an added luster to the nation that gave them birth and to the Church which taught them devotion to their land. The rank and file began to swarm with men of the Catholic faith, so many, indeed, that their great Archbishop, John Carroll, could write of them that "their blood flowed as freely (in proportion to their numbers) to cement the fabric of independence, as that of any of their fellow citizens. They concurred with perhaps greater unanimity than any other body of men in recommending and promoting that government from whose influence America anticipates all the blessings of justice, peace, plenty, good order, and civil and religious liberty."

Only among the few was the spirit of intolerance still rampant, and among these might be numbered Colonel Forrest.

III

"See now who's t' blame, don't ye? The likes o' ye an' that poltroon, Jay, up there in New York. See who started this affair, don't ye?"

"That's what you say. Egad, I could say all that an' save half the breath. I've got my 'pinion, though, and that'll do fur me."

"Ye're so narrow, Forrest, ye've only one side."

"Is that so? Well, so is the Governor."

"Is that his opinion, too?" impatiently asked Mr. Allison.

"What?"

"Does he view matters in that light?"

"Did I say he did."

"Yes."

There was no further response.

Stephen had, by this time, become thoroughly exasperated with this man, and was about to eject him forcibly from the room. His better judgment, however, bade him restrain himself. A tilt in a public drinking house would only noise his name abroad and perhaps give rise to much unpleasantness.

"How can a man consistently be subject to any civil ruler when he already has pledged his allegiance, both in soul and in body, to another potentate?"

This from the man in black, the fourth member of the party, who heretofore had maintained an impartial and respectful silence, not so much from choice perhaps as through necessity. His name proved to be John Anderson.

"You mean an alien?" Stephen inquired.

"If you are pleased so to term it. The Pope is a temporal lord, you understand, and as such is due allegiance from every one of his subjects."

And then Stephen took pains to explain, clearly and concisely, the great difference between the two authorities—the civil and the religious. The Prince of Peace had said, "Render unto Caeesar the things that are Caeesar's, and to God the things that are God's," which declaration admitted of an interpretation at once comprehensive and exclusive. He explained how the Catholic found himself a member of two distinct and perfect societies, each independent and absolute within its own sphere, the one deriving its charter from the natural law, the other directly from God. He then pointed out how these societies lived in perfect harmony, although armed with two swords, the one spiritual, the other temporal, weapons which were intended never to clash but to fight side by side for the promotion of man's happiness, temporal and eternal.

"But it is inconceivable how a clash can be avoided," Mr. Anderson reminded him.

"Not when it is remembered that each authority is independent of the other. The Church has no power over civil legislation in matters purely secular, nor has the state a right to interfere in ecclesiastical legislation, in matters purely spiritual, nor over spiritual persons considered strictly as such. In every Catholic country the King, as well as the humblest peasant, is subject to the laws of his country in secular matters, and to the laws of his church in matters spiritual."

"Yet at the same time he cannot fail to recognize that the one is superior to the other."

"Only in so far as the spiritual order is superior to the secular."

"Not in temporal affairs as well?"

"Not in the least. Only in the recognition of the fact that the salvation of the soul is of more importance than the welfare of the body. In this is the mission of the state considered inferior to that of the Church."

"If this be true, how can a Catholic pay allegiance to a society which he believes to be a subordinate one?"

"He does not consider it subordinate. It is supreme within its own sphere. Theoretically it is subordinate in this: that the care of the soul comes first; then that of the body. The state is the greatest institution in matters secular, and in this respect superior to the Church. The Church makes no pretense of infallibility in statesmanship. Hence, a Catholic who is true to his Church and her teachings makes the best citizen."

"Why?"

"Because, to him, patriotism is inculcated by religion. Throughout his whole life his soul has been nurtured by his Church on a twofold pabulum,—love of God and love of country."

"The Catholic Church expressly teaches that? I thought——"

"Exactly," agreed Stephen, interrupting him. "The Catholic has been taught that the civil authority, to which he owes and pays allegiance, is something divine; for him it is the authority of God vested in His creatures and he gives ear to its voice and yields to it a sweet and humble submission as befits a child of God, doing His Will in all things. For he recognizes therein the sound of the Divine Voice."

"I see."

"He remembers the teaching of his Church, derived from the words of St. Paul writing on this subject to the citizens of Rome, 'Let every man be subject to higher powers, for there is no power but from God; and those that are, are ordained of God,' and the letter of St. Peter, the first Pope, 'Be ye subject, therefore, to every human creature for God's sake; whether it be to the king as excelling; or to governors as sent by him—for so is the will of God.'"

"You must have been reading the Bible," interrupted Mr. Allison with a smile.

"I have," answered Stephen, as he continued with little or no attention to the interruption.

"The Catholic obeys the voice of his rightly constituted authority because he feels that he is obeying the voice of his God, and when he yields obedience to the law of his land, he feels that he is yielding obedience to God Himself. His ruler is the mouthpiece of God; the Constitution of his state a most sacred thing because it is the embodiment of the authority of God and he would rather die than commit any untoward or unlawful deed which might undermine or destroy it, precisely because it is from God."

There was no response. All had listened with attention to Stephen as he emphasized point after point. All, save Colonel Forrest, who wore a sardonic smile throughout it all.

"You should 've talked like that on Guy Fawkes' Day," he muttered, "if you wanted t' hev some fun. We'd hev some hot tar fur you."

"Thank God!" replied Stephen. "We shall witness no more such outbreaks of fanaticism. They have long enough disgraced our country. They are, I trust, forever ended."

"The Pope Day Celebration ended?" asked Anderson in surprise.

"I hope so. Since General Washington issued the order soon after taking command of the army, abolishing the celebration, the practice has never been resumed."

"Wash'ton thinks he owns th' country," mumbled Forrest in a half articulate manner. "Likes th' Papists, he does. No more Pope Day! Cath'lic gen'rals! French al-lies! P'rhaps 'll send fur th' Pope next. Give 'm 'is house, p'rhaps. Give 'im th' whole coun'ry. No damn good to us, he ain't. No damn good——"

The next moment Stephen was upon him with his hands about his throat, his face flaming with rage and passion.

"You hound! No more of that; or your treason will end forever."

He shook his head violently, tightening his fingers about his throat. As he did, Forrest writhing in the chair under his attack, began to fumble with his hand at his hip as if instinctively seeking something there. Stephen's eyes followed the movement, even while he, too, relaxed his hold to seize with his free hand the arm of his adversary. Only for a moment, however; for he immediately felt himself seized from behind by the shoulders and dragged backwards from his man and completely overpowered.

The man who was known as Anderson took charge of the Colonel, helping him to his feet, and without further words led him to one side of the room, talking softly but deliberately to him as he did so.

A moment later they had passed through the door and vanished down the street in the direction of the Square.



CHAPTER VI

I

The morrow was one of those rare days when all nature seems to invite one to go forth and enjoy the good things within her keeping. The sunrise was menacing; unless the wind shifted before noon it would be uncomfortably warm. Still, the air was bracing and fragrant with the soft perfume distilled by the pines.

Stephen felt in tune with nature as he made his early morning toilet. He gazed the while into the garden from his widely opened window, and responded instinctively to the call of the countryside. The disagreeable episode of the preceding day had left unpleasant recollections in his mind which disconcerted him not a little during his waking hours, the time when the stream of consciousness begins to flow with an unrestrained rapidity, starting with the more impressive memories of the night before. He did not repent his action; he might have repeated the performance under similar circumstances, yet he chided himself for his lack of reserve and composure and his great want of respect to a superior officer.

He was early mounted and on his way, striking off in the direction of the Germantown Road. He had left word with his landlady of his intended destination, with the added remark that he would be back in a short time, a couple of hours at the most, and that he would attend to the business of the day upon his return. What that might amount to he had no idea at all, being preoccupied entirely with what he had to do in the immediate present, for he made it a point never to permit the more serious affairs of life to intrude upon his moments of relaxation.

He was a pleasant figure to look upon; smooth-faced and athletic, well mounted and dressed with great preciseness. On his well shaped hands he wore leathern gauntlets; he was in his uniform of buff and blue; beneath his coat he had his steel-buckled belt with his holster and pistol in it; he wore his cocked hat with a buff cockade affixed, the insignia of his rank in the service.

The road lay in the direction of Marjorie's house. Perhaps he chose to ride along this way in order that he might be obliged to pass her door, and then again, perhaps, that was but of secondary import. This was no time for analysis, and so he refused to study his motives. He did know that he had not seen her for a long time, the longest time it seemed, and that he had had no word from her since their last meeting, save the intelligence received from her father yesterday in response to his repeated inquiries concerning her welfare and that of her mother.

"Let us turn up here, Dolly, old girl." He leaned forward a little to pat the mare's neck affectionately as he spoke; while at the same time he pulled the right rein slightly, turning her head in the direction indicated. "And, if we are fortunate, we shall catch a glimpse of her."

Dolly raised her ears very erect and opened full her nostrils as if to catch some possible scent of her, of whom he spoke. She pierced the distance with her eyes, but saw no one and so settled herself into an easy canter, for she knew it to be more to her rider's advantage to proceed at a slowing pace until they had passed the house in question.

"You are an intelligent old girl, Dolly, but I must not let you too far into the secrets of my mind. Still, you have shared my delights and woes alike and have been my one faithful friend. Why should I not tell you?"

And yet they had been friends for no great length of time. It was at Valley Forge they had met, shortly after Stephen's appointment to General Washington's staff. As an aide he was required to be mounted and it was by a piece of good fortune that he had been allowed to choose from several the chestnut mare that now bore him. He had given her the best of care and affection and she reciprocated in as intelligent a manner as she knew how.

"You have served well, but I feel that there is much greater work before us, much greater than our quest of the present."

They were nearing the house. For some reason or other, Dolly whinnied as he spoke, probably in acquiescence to his thought, probably in recognition of the presence of her rival. She might have seen, had she cared to turn her head, a trim, lithe form passing to the rear of the house. Stephen took pains to see her, however, and, as she turned her head, doffed his hat in salute. The next moment Dolly felt the reins tighten, and, whether she desired it or not, found her head turned in that direction. Her rider was soon dismounted and was leading her to the side of the road.

"You are early astir, Mistress Marjorie. I had anticipated no such pleasure this morning."

"It is indeed mutual," replied Marjorie, smiling as she offered him her hand. "How came you so early? No new turn of events, I hope!"

"Not in the least. I desired a few hours in the saddle before the heat of the day set in, and my guardian angel must have directed me along this path."

Dolly raised both her ears and turned towards him, while she noisily brought her hoof down upon the sod.

"What a rascal!" she thought to herself.

The girl dropped her eyes demurely and then asked hurriedly:

"There are no new developments?"

"None that I know of."

"Nothing came of the trouble at the Inn?"

"Then you know?"

"All. Father told me."

"He should not have told you."

"It was my doing. I gave him no peace until I had learned all."

Dolly grew weary of this pleasantry and wandered away to gladden her lips on the choice morsels of the tender grass.

"I deeply regret my indiscretion, though it was for his sake."

"You mean——?"

"His Excellency."

"I might have done likewise, were I able. Colonel Forrest is most disagreeable."

"He was not wholly culpable and so I forgave his insulting remarks against us, but I forgot myself entirely when General Washington's name was besmirched."

"I fear further trouble," she sighed.

"From him?"

She nodded her head.

"Nonsense! There will be naught said about the whole affair and it will end where it began. Forrest is no fool."

"I have other news for you, Captain," announced Marjorie, her eyes beaming at the prospect.

"And how long have you been preserving it for me?" asked Stephen.

"But a few days."

"And you made no attempt to see me?"

"Had I not met you now, I would have done so this day," answered Marjorie.

"You would have written?"

"Perhaps."

"It is my forfeiture to your reserve."

"And made gallantly."

"Come now! What had you to tell?"

"This. Peggy desires the honor of your company. You will receive the invitation in a day or two. Just an informal affair, yet I sensed the possibility of your pleasure."

"You did right. I am pleased as I am honored, but neither so much as I am elated at the hopes for the future. Of course, I shall accept, but you will have to promise to denote my path for me in the tangled maze of society, in whose company I am as yet merely a novice."

"Lud! I ne'er heard one so illiberal of his graces."

"Nor one more candid," Stephen rejoined as quickly. If he were good at repartee he had met with one who was equally as apt.

"You know the Governor will be in attendance," she declared in a matter-of-fact manner.

"How should I know that? Is it unusual for him to frequent the company of the gay?"

"Not of late, the more especially where the presence of Peggy is concerned," added the little tale-bearer with a keen though reckless wit.

"And why Peggy?" He was innocent enough in his question.

"Have you not heard of His Excellency's courting? Mr. Shippen has already made public the rumor that a certain great General is laying close siege to the heart of Peggy. And I have Peggy's own word for it."

"To Peggy?" He asked with evident surprise. "Why, she but halves his age, and he is already a widower."

"With three sons," Marjorie gayly added. "No matter. Peggy will meet the disparity of ages by the disparity of stations. She has avowed to me that no one dares to question the social preeminence of the Military Governor, nor the fact that he is the most dashing and perhaps most successful general of the Continental Army. Position in life is of prime importance to her."

"Is that so? I had not so judged her," was the comment.

"She admits that herself, and makes no secret of it before any one. Did you not observe her sullen silence at the Ball upon learning of the identity of her inferior partner? And that she sat out the major portion of the dance in company with the Military Governor?"

"It escaped my attention, for I was too deeply concerned with another matter which distracted me for the entire evening," he answered with a smile.

She pretended to take no notice, however, and continued.

"Well, he has been calling regularly since that evening, and this quiet and informal function has been arranged primarily in his honor, although it will not be announced as such. You will go?" she asked.

"I shall be pleased to accept her invitation. May I accompany you?"

"Thank you. I almost hoped you would say that. Men folks are so sadly wanting in intuition."

"Friday, then? Adieu! The pleasure that awaits me is immeasurable."

"Until Friday."

She extended to him her hand, which he pressed. A moment later he was mounted.

"My kindest to your mother. She will understand." Dolly broke into a gallop.

II

Marjorie stood at the gate post until he was quite lost from view around the turn of the road. He did not look back, yet she thought that he might have. She slowly turned and as slowly began to walk towards the house, there to resume the duties which had suffered a pleasant interruption.

Meanwhile, she tried to analyze this young man. He was rather deep, of few words on any given subject, but wholly non-communicative as regards himself. He perhaps was possessed of more intuition than his manner would reveal, although he gave every appearance of arriving at his conclusions by the sheer force of logic. His words and deeds never betrayed his whole mind, of that she was certain, yet he could assert himself rather forcibly when put to the test, as in the painful incident at the Coffee House. He would never suffer from soul-paralysis, thought she, for want of decision or resolution, for both were written full upon him.

That she was strangely attracted to him she knew very well, but why and how she was unable to discover. This was but their third meeting, yet she felt as if she had known him all her life, so frank, so unreserved, so open, so secure did she feel in his presence. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to have waved her hand in salute to him that morning as he passed; she did it with the same unconcern as if she had known him all her life. She felt it within her, that was all, and could give no other possible interpretation to her action.

There was something prepossessing about him. Perhaps it was his faculty for doing the unexpected. Most women desire to meet a man who is possessed of a distinctive individuality, who lends continual interest to them by his departure from the trite and commonplace. What Stephen might say or do was an entirely unknown quantity until it had actually taken place, and this attracted her on the instant, whether she was conscious of it or not. His manner, too, was affable, and gave him an air at once pleasing and good-natured. He never flattered, yet said most agreeable things, putting one perfectly at ease and inspiring sympathy and courage. He bore himself well; erect, manly, dignified, without ostentation or display. His seriousness, his evenness, his gravity, his constancy and his decision stamped him with a certain authority, a man of marked personality and character.

So she mused as she entered the door, her thoughts in a lofty hegira to the far off land of make believe—her better self striving to marshal them to the cold realities of duty that lay before her. She had been cleaning the little addition at the rear of the dwelling proper, used as a kitchen, and her work took her into the yard. Dolly's whinny had caused her to turn her head, and the next moment cares and responsibilities and all else were forgotten. Now she wondered what she had been about! Seizing a cloth she began to dust industriously. The crash of one of the dishes on the kitchen floor brought her to her senses. Her mother heard the noise from the adjoining room.

"What ails thee, child? Hast thou lost thy reason?"

"I believe so, mommy. I must have been thinking of other things." And she stooped to gather the fragments.

"Was it Captain Meagher? I saw you two at the gate."

A guilty smile stole over the corners of her mouth.

"He was passing while I was in the yard, and he stopped only to wish me the greetings of the day. I was right glad that he did, for I had an opportunity of extending to him the invitation from Peggy."

"He will go, I suppose?" she queried, knowing well what the answer might be. She did not spare the time to stop for conversation, but continued with her duties.

"He is quite pleased. And, mommy, he will call for me."

"Be careful, now, to break no more dishes."

"Lud! I have not lost my head yet. That was purely an accident which will not happen again."

"That poor unfortunate Spangler made a better defense."

"He deserved what he got. So did Lieutenant Lyons and the other officers of the Ranger who deserted to the enemy. But my sympathies go out to the old man who kept the gates under the city. These court-martials are becoming too common and I don't like them."

"That is the horrible side of war, my dear. And until our people learn the value of patriotism, the need of abolishing all foreign ties and strongly adhering to the land that has offered them a home and a living, the necessity of these dreadful measures will never cease."

"A little power is a dangerous weapon to thrust into a man's hand, unless he be great enough to wield it."

"Now you are going to say that General Arnold is to blame for these tragedies."

"No, I am not. But I do think that a great deal more of clemency could be exercised. Many of those poor tradesmen who were convicted and sentenced to be hanged could have been pardoned with equal security."

"That is the law, my dear, and the law is God's will. Leave all to Him."

Mrs. Allison was one of those good souls who saw no harm in the vilest of creatures; faults were hidden by her veil of sympathy. When distressing reverses or abject despair visited any one, Mrs. Allison's affability and indescribable tenderness smoothed over the troubled situation and brought forth a gleam of gladness. Quiet, kindly, magnanimous, tolerant, she could touch hearts to the depths in a manner both winning and lasting. Whether the fault entailed a punishment undeserved or inevitable, her feeling of pity was excited. She always sympathized without accusing or probing the source of the evil. She stretched forth a helping hand merely to aid. No nature, however hard, could be impervious to the sympathy and the sweetness of her affectionate disposition.

Motherly was the quality written full upon Mrs. Allison's face. Her thoughts, her schemes, her purposes, her ambitions of life, were all colored by this maternal attribute. In her daily homage and obeisance to God, Whom she worshiped with the most childlike faith and simplicity; in the execution of the manifold duties of her home, Marjorie was to her ever a treasure of great price. She was sustained in her aims and purposes by an enduring power of will,—a power clothed with the soft, warm, living flesh of a kindly heart.

Her marriage with Matthew Allison had been happy, a happiness intensified and concretely embodied in Marjorie, the only child vouchsafed to them by the Creator. How often, at the time when the deepening shadows moved their way across the dimming landscape, announcing to the work worn world the close of another day, would she sit for a brief while in silence and take complacence in the object of her hopes and aspirations! It was Marjorie for whom she lived and toiled and purposed. And it was Marjorie who embodied the sum-total of her fancies and ambitions and aspirations, and translated them into definite forms and realities.

III

A beautiful landscape unrolled itself before Stephen as he leisurely rode along the Germantown road. The midsummer sun was now high in the heavens, with just a little stir in the air to temper its warmth and oppressiveness. Fragments of clouds, which seemed to have torn themselves loose from some great heap massed beyond the ridge of low hills to the westward, drifted lazily across the waste of blue sky, wholly unconcerned as to their ultimate lot or destination. Breaths of sweet odor, from freshly cut hay or the hidden foliage bounding the road, were wafted along in the embraces of the gentle breeze. Away to the left and before him, as his horse cantered along, swelled the countryside in gentle undulations of green and brown, disfigured now and again by irregular patches of field and orchard yielding to cultivation; while to the side a stone wall humped itself along the winding road into the distance, its uniformity of contour broken here and there by a trellis work of yellow jasmine or crimson rambler, alternately reflecting lights and shadows from the passing clouds and sunshine. It was a day when all nature was in perfect tune, its harmony sweetly blending with the notes of gladness that throbbed in Stephen's heart. Yet he was scarce aware of it all, so completely absorbed was he in the confusion of his own thought.

Stephen had a very clear idea of what he was to do in the immediate present, but he had no idea at all of what was to be done in the immediate future. First of all he would attend Mistress Marjorie at this informal affair, where, perhaps, he might learn more about the Military Governor. He half surmised that His Excellency was not kindly disposed towards Catholics in general, although he could not remember any concrete case in particular to substantiate his claim. Still he knew that he was avowedly opposed to the French Alliance, as were many illustrious citizens; and he presumed his feelings were due in part at least to the fact that France was a recognized Catholic country. There was a negative argument, too: no Catholic name was ever found among his appointments. These were but surmises, not evidence upon which to base even a suspicion. Nevertheless, they were worthy of some consideration until a conclusion of a more definite nature was warranted.

That the Governor was becoming decidedly more unpopular every day and that this unpopularity was quite consequential, more consequential if anything than preconceived,—for it cannot be gainsaid that many had frowned upon his appointment from the very beginning,—Meagher knew very well. Unfavorable comparisons already had been drawn between the gayety of life under a free country and that of a colonial government. The fact that Arnold possessed the finest stable of horses in the city, and entertained at the most costly of dinners, at a time when the manner of living was extremely frugal, not so much from choice as from necessity, and at a time when the value of the Continental currency had depreciated to almost nothing, occasioned a host of acrid criticisms not only in the minds of the displeased populace, but also in the less friendly columns of the daily press.

Censures of the harshest nature were continually uttered against the Governor's conduct of the affairs of the city government together with his earlier order closing the shops. Now, the use that he began to make of the government wagons in moving the stores excited further complaints of a more public nature, the more so that no particular distinction was being made as to whether the stores belonged to the Whigs or the offending Tories. It was no idle gossip that he curried favor with the upper Tory class of the city, now particular mention was made of his infatuation with the daughter of Edward Shippen. It was whispered, too, that the misuse of his authority in the grant of safe passes to and from New York had led to the present act of the Congress in recalling all passes. Stephen knew all this and he logically surmised more; so he longed for the opportunity to study intimately this man now occupying the highest military post in the city and the state.

For the present he would return home and bide his time until Friday evening when he would have the happiness of escorting Marjorie to the home of Peggy Shippen.

"I wonder, Dolly, old girl, if I can make myself bold enough to call her 'Marjorie.' 'Marjorie,' Margaret,'" he repeated them over to himself. "I don't know which is the prettier. She would be a pearl among women, and she is, isn't she, Dolly?"

He would ask her at any rate. He would be her partner for the evening, would dance with her, and would sit by her side. Peggy would be there, too, and the General. He would observe them closely, and perchance, converse with them. Colonel Forrest and the General's active aide-de-camp, Major Franks, a Philadelphian, and a Jew would also be present. Altogether the evening promised to be interesting as well as happy.

He was musing in this manner when he heard the hoof beats of a horse, heavily ridden, gaining upon him in the rear. He drew up and half turned instinctively at the strange yet familiar sound. Suddenly there hove into view at the bend of the road an officer of the Continental Army, in full uniform, booted and spurred, whose appearance caused him to turn full about to await him. It was not long before he recognized the familiar figure of the aide, Major Franks, and he lifted his arm to salute.

"Captain Meagher, I have orders for your arrest."

"Sir?" answered Stephen in alarm.

"On charges preferred by Colonel Forrest. You are to come with me at once."

An embarrassing silence ensued.

Stephen then saluted, and handed over his side arms. He wheeled his horse and set off in the direction indicated, his thoughts in a turmoil.

The Major fell in at the rear.



CHAPTER VII

I

"For still my mem'ry lingers on the scenes And pleasures of the days beyond recall."

Peggy's voice, timid, soft though pretty, died away into an enraptured silence which seemed to endure for the longest while before the room burst into a generous measure of applause. She was very well accompanied on the clavichord by Miss Rutteledge and on the harp by Monsieur Ottow, Secretary to the French Minister. The evening had been delightful; the assembly brilliant in quality, and unaffectedly congenial and diverting. The music had contributed much to the pleasures of the function, for the Shippens' was one of the few homes in the city where such a resource was at all possible.

"Major! Major Franks! What do you think of my little girl? Do you think 'twould be well for her to cultivate such a voice?"

Mrs. Shippen turned sideways. There was gratification, genuine, complacent gratification, visible in every line of her smiling face.

"Splendid! Splendid! Of course. Madame, she sings very prettily," replied the Major, gathering himself from the state of partial repose into which he had fallen.

He sat up.

"And do you know, Major," went on the fond mother, "she never had a tutor, except some of our dear friends who made this their home during the winter."

"You mean the British?"

"Of course they did not make so free with everybody in the city, with only a few, you know. It was for General Howe himself that Margaret first made bold enough to sing."

"She does very well, I am sure," was the reply.

The little group again lapsed into silence as Peggy responded with an encore, this selection being a patriotic air of a lighter vein. The Major again lapsed into an easy attitude, but Mrs. Shippen was visibly intent upon every motion of the singer and followed her every syllable.

"How much does music contribute to one's pleasure!" she remarked when the conversation began to stir.

"It is charming," Mr. Anderson observed.

"And do you know that we inherited that clavichord? It is one of the oldest in the country."

"It appears to be of rare design," remarked Mr. Anderson, as his eyes pierced the distance in a steady observance of it.

"It belonged to Mr. Shippen's father," she boasted. "This house, you know, was the home of Edward Shippen, who was Mayor of the city over an hundred years ago. It was then, if I do say it, the most pretentious home in the city. My husband was for disposing of it and removing to less fashionable quarters, but I would not hear of it. Never!"

Major Franks surveyed the great room deliberately.

"'Twould make a fine castle!" he commented as he half turned and crossed one knee over the other. He felt that this would be his last visit if he continued to take any less interest, yet even that apparently caused him no great concern.

And yet, a great house it was, the quondam residence of Edward Shippen, the progenitor of the present family, a former Mayor of the city, who had fled thither from Boston where he had suffered persecution at the hands of the Puritans who could not allow him to be a Quaker. It stood on an eminence outside the city. It was well surrounded, with its great orchard, its summer house, its garden smiling with roses, and lilies; bordered by rows of yellow pines shading the rear, with a spacious green lawn away to the front affording an unobstructed view of the city and the Delaware shore. It was a residence of pretentious design and at the time of its construction was easily the most sumptuous home in the city.

The Shippens had been the leaders of the fashionable set, not alone in days gone by, the days of colonial manners when diversions and enjoyments were indulged in as far as the austerities of the staid old Quaker code would allow; but also during the days of the present visitation of the British, when emulation in the entertainment of the visitors ran riot among the townsfolk. Small wonder that the present lord of the manor felt constrained to write to his father that he should be under the necessity of removing from this luxurious abode to Lancaster, "for the style of living my fashionable daughters have introduced into my family and their dress will I fear before long oblige me to change the scene." Yet if the truth were told, the style of living inaugurated by the ambitious daughters was no less a heritage than a part of the discipline in which they had been reared.

If the sudden and forced departure of the dashing as well as the eligible British Officers from the city had totally upset the cherished social aspirations of the mother of the Shippen girls, the advent of the gallant and unmarried Military Governor had lifted them to a newer and much higher plane of endeavor. The termination of a matrimonial alliance with the second in command of the patriotic forces not less than the foremost in rank of the city gentry, would more than compensate for the loss of a possible British peerage. Theirs was a proud lineage to boast of and a mode of unfeigned comfort and display. And it took but the briefest possible time for the artful mother to discern that her clever and subtle devices were beginning to meet with some degree of success.

The present function was wholly her affair, and while it was announced as a purely informal gathering, the manner and the scheme of the decorations, the elegance and the care with which the women dressed, the order, the appointments, the refreshments, not to mention the distinguished French visitors, would permit no one to surmise that, even for a moment. Care had been taken to issue invitations to the representative members of the city's upper class, more especially to the newly arrived French Officers and their wives, as well as the commissioned members of the Continental Army. There were the Shippen girls, their persistent friend, Miss Chew, as well as Miss Franks, whose brother was now attached to the staff of General Arnold, and a dozen other young ladies, all attractive, and dressed in the prevailing elegance of fashion; the hair in an enormous coiffure, in imitation of the fashions of the French, with turbans of gauze and spangles and ropes of pearls, the low bodices with the bow in front, the wide sashes below. It was an altogether brilliant assembly, with the Military Governor the most brilliant of all.

"Tell me, Major," asked Mrs. Shippen in measured and subdued language as she leaned forward in an apparently confidential manner, "does General Arnold visit often?"

"Oh, yes!" replied the Major at once, "he is very generous with his company."

Her face fell somewhat.

"Now, isn't that strange? I was told that he made a practice of calling at no home outside of ours."

He uncrossed his leg and shifted in his chair rather uneasily.

"Quite true." He saw at once that he had made an unhappy remark. "But of course he makes no social calls, none whatsoever. You must know that the affairs of state require all of his time, for which duty he is obliged to visit many people on matters of pure business."

"Oh!"

She appeared satisfied at this explanation.

"It seems as if we had known him all our lives. He feels so perfectly at home with us."

"Exactly."

"You have met him often with us, haven't you, Marjorie?"

"I first met him at the Military Ball through Peggy," Marjorie replied naively.

"But you must have met him here. He has been here so often," she insisted.

"Then I vow our General has felt the smite of your fair daughter's charms," remarked Mr. Anderson.

Marjorie breathed a sigh of relief at the timely interruption.

"Do you really think so?" asked Mrs. Shippen, with no attempt to conceal her impatience.

"Unquestionably.

'Smiles from reason flow, To brute denied, and are of love the food.'

So sang the bard, and so sing I of His Excellency."

"But his age! He cannot now be thinking of matrimony."

"Age, my dear Mrs. Shippen, is a matter of feeling, not of years. The greatest miracle of love is to eradicate all disparity. Before it age, rank, lineage, distinction dissolve like the slowly fading light of the sun at eventide. The General is bent on conquest; that I'll wager. What say you, Major? A five pound note?"

"Not I. 'Old men are twice children,' you know."

"Well, if I do say it," remarked Mrs. Shippen, "my daughter has had a splendid education and is as cultured a girl as there is in the city and would make a fitting helpmate for any man, no matter what his position in life may be."

The orchestra began to fill the room with the strains of the minuet. Mr. Anderson arose and advanced towards Marjorie.

"May I have the pleasure of your company?" he said.

Marjorie arose and gave him her arm.

II

She tripped through the graces of the minuet in a mechanical sort of a fashion, her thoughts in a far off land of amazement and gloomy desolation. The unexpected and adverse stroke of fortune which had descended with hawk-like velocity upon Stephen had thoroughly disconcerted her. Try as she would, her imagination could not be brought under her control. There was one image that would not out, and that was Stephen's.

A short note from him gave the first inkling to her. He had been placed under arrest by order of Major-General Arnold on the charge of striking his superior officer, in violation of the Fifth Article, Second Section of the American Articles of War. The charge had been preferred on the evening previous to his arrest and bore the signature of Colonel Forrest, with whom, she called to mind, he had participated in the affray at the Inn.

Little would come of it. Of that she could rest assured. For if he chose to present his side of the case, cause might be found against the Colonel in the matter of disrespectful language against the Commander-in-chief. On that account the affair would very probably end where it had begun and his sword would once more be restored to him. Should the Colonel press the case, however, it would result in a court-martial, that being the usual tribunal before which such matters were tried.

For the present he was under arrest. He was not confined and no limits were assigned to him in the order of his arrest, yet he was deprived of his sword and therefore without power to exercise any military command pending his trial. Since it was considered indecorous in an officer under arrest to appear at public places, it would be impossible for him to accompany her to the home of the Shippens on Friday evening. This caused him the greater concern, yet his word of honor obliged him to await either the issue of his trial or his enlargement by the proper authority.

He bade her be of good cheer and asked a remembrance in her prayers, assuring her she would be ever present in his thoughts. Since he was allowed the use of his personal liberty, he would soon make use of a favorable opportunity to pay her a call. Until then, he could tell her no more, save the desire to have her attend the party and to enjoy herself to the utmost.

From the moment of her receipt of this letter, she had rehearsed the incidents therein narrated over and over again. Go where she would her thought followed her as instinctively as the homeward trail of the bee. Reflection possessed her and she was lost in the intricate maze of the world of fancy.

To follow mere instinct does not beseem a man, yet for woman this faculty is the height of reason and will be trusted by her to the very end. Marjorie's instinct told her that all would not be well with Stephen, notwithstanding his place of honor on the staff of the Commander-in-chief, to whom he might readily appeal should the occasion require. The charge was of minor consequence, and could under ordinary circumstances be dismissed; but it would not be dismissed. He would be tried, found guilty, and sentenced. A consummation too horrible for thought!

She could not enjoy herself at Peggy's function, that she knew. But she must attend, if for no other reason than for appearance. The strange regard for this officer, which she had discovered to be growing daily in intensity and depth, had been brought to definite realization by the sudden crisis in Stephen's fortunes. The sudden revelation of this truth from which she was wont to recoil with petulant diffidence alarmed her not a little. She must not allow herself to be perturbed over this incident, and no one, not even her mother, must ever be permitted to detect the slightest concern on her part.

"You seem unusually preoccupied this evening, Mistress Allison," remarked Mr. Anderson as he led her to one side of the room at the conclusion of the dance.

Marjorie started. She could feel herself coloring into a deep scarlet, which endured the more as she strove desperately to retain her natural composure.

"I? Why? No! Did I appear absent-minded?"

"As if sojourning in some far off land."

She thought for a moment.

"We all inhabit dream countries."

"True. We do. And there is no swifter vehicle to that fair land than an inattentive companion."

"You mean——"

"That I am entirely at fault for allowing you to wander there."

"You are unkind to yourself to say that."

"I vow I mean it."

They neared the settee into which he gallantly assisted her. She made room for him by drawing back the folds of her gown.

"Have you ever had a miniature made?" he asked of her.

"Never. I scarce gave it a thought," she replied nonchalantly.

"In that gown, you would make a perfect picture."

"Couldst thou paint it?" she asked quickly with the attitude of one who has proposed an impossible question.

"Aye, and willingly, would I," he smartly replied.

"I should love to see it. I should scarce know mine own face."

She regarded the subject with ridicule, observing as she spoke the end of the sash with which her fingers had been fumbling.

"You shall see it as it is with no artful flattery to disfigure it. May I bring it in person? The post-rider's bag is too unworthy a messenger."

"Lud! I shall be unable to restrain my curiosity and await the carrier."

"Then I shall be the carrier."

"Nothing would afford me more pleasure."

Neither of the two spoke for a moment.

She wondered if she were imprudent. While she had not known this man before this evening, still she knew of him as the one who took part in the disturbance at the Coffee House.

He seemed unusually attentive to her, although not unpleasantly so, and innocently enough the question presented itself to her as to the import of his motives. He had sought no information nor did he disclose any concerning himself, for at no time did their conversation arise to any plane above the commonplace. Yet she was willing to see him again and to discover, if possible, the true state of his mind.

Stephen, she knew, would approve of her action; not only because of the personal satisfaction which might be derived therefrom, but also because of the possibilities which such a meeting might unfold. That Anderson was prompted by some ulterior motive and that he was not attracted so much by her charms as by the desire of seeking some advantage, she was keen enough to sense. Just what this quest might lead to could not be fathomed, yet it presented at all hazards a situation worthy of more than a passing notice.

She mistrusted General Arnold, a mere opinion it was true, for she possessed no evidence to warrant even a suspicion, yet something about the man created within her heart a great want of confidence and reliance. He was supremely overbearing and unusually sensitive. This, together with his vaulting ambition and love of display,—traits which even the merest novice could not fail to observe,—might render him capable of the most brilliant achievements, such as his exploits before the walls of Quebec and on the field of Saratoga, or of unwise and wholly irresponsible actions, of some of which, although of minor consequence, he had been guilty during the past few months. He disliked her form of religious worship, and she strongly suspected this was the reason he so openly opposed the alliance with the French. She regarded this prejudice as a sad misfortune in a man of authority. His judgments were liable to be clouded and unfair.

She knew Peggy like a book and she could easily imagine the influence such a girl could exert, as a wife, on a man so constituted. Peggy's social ambition and her marked passion for display and domination, traits no less apparent in her than in her mother, would lead her to view the overtures of her impetuous suitor with favor, notwithstanding the fact that he was almost double her own age. As his wife she would attain a social prestige. She was a Tory at heart, and he evidenced at sundry times the same inclinations. She was a Quaker, while he belonged to the religion of His Majesty, the King; nevertheless, both agreed in this, that the miserable Papists were an ambitious and crafty lot, who were bent on obtaining an early and complete mastery over this country. The pair were well mated in many respects, thought Marjorie, the disparity in their ages was all that would render the match at all irregular, although Peggy's more resolute will and intense ambition would make her the dominant member of the alliance. Little as the General suspected it, Marjorie thought, he was slowly, though surely, being encircled in the web which Peggy and her artful mother were industriously spinning about him.

III

Marjorie and Anderson sat conversing long and earnestly. Several dances were announced and engaged in, with little or no manifest attention on their part, so engrossed were they in the matter of more serious import. At length they deserted their vantage ground for the more open and crowded room, pausing before Peggy and the General, who were sheltered near the entrance.

"Heigho, John!" exclaimed His Excellency upon their approach, "what strange absconding is this? Have a care, my boy, lest you have to answer to Captain Meagher."

Marjorie felt the gaze of the group full upon her. She flushed a little.

"Little or no danger, nor cause alleged," she laughed.

"Captain Meagher!" recollected Anderson, "does he excel?"

"I scarce know," replied Marjorie. "I have met him not over thrice in my life."

"Once is quite sufficient," said the General. "First impressions often endure. But stay. Draw your chairs. I was only saying that I may be required to leave here shortly."

"You have been transferred?" asked Marjorie.

"No! But I have written to Washington begging for a command in the navy. My wounds are in a fair way and less painful than usual, though there is little prospect of my being able to be in the field for a considerable time."

They sat down as requested, opposite Peggy and the General.

"But, General, have you not taken us into your consideration?" asked Anderson.

"I have, yet the criticism is becoming unendurable. Of course you have heard that matters have already become strained between the civil government and myself. Only last week my head aide-de-camp sent for a barber who was attached to a neighboring regiment, using as a messenger the orderly whom I had stationed at the door. For this trifling order there has been aroused a hornet's nest."

"Wherein lay the fault?" asked Marjorie.

"In this. It appears from a letter which I have already received from the father of the sergeant (Matlack is his name, to be exact) that the boy was hurt by the order itself and the manner of it, and as a freeman would not submit to such an indignity as to summon a barber for the aide of a commanding officer. We have a proud, stubborn people to rule, who are no more fitted for self-government than the Irish——"

He stopped short.

Marjorie bit her lip. "I wish, General, you would withdraw your comparison. It is painful to me."

"I am sorry, Mistress Allison. As a matter of fact I hardly knew what I had said. I do withdraw it."

"Thank you so much."

Then he went on.

"These Americans are not only ungrateful, but stupidly arrogant. What comparison can be drawn between this dullard, Matlack, whose feelings as a citizen were hurt by an order of an aide-de-camp, and I, when I was obliged to serve a whole campaign under the command of a gentleman who was not known as a soldier until I had been some time a brigadier. My feelings had to be sacrificed to the interest of my country. Does not the fool know that I became a soldier and bear the marks upon me, to vindicate the rights of citizens?"

He talked rapidly, yet impassionately. It was plain, however, that he was seriously annoyed over the turn of events, on which subject he conversed with his whole being. He made gestures with violence. His face became livid. His attitude was menacing.

"On my arrival here, my very first act was condemned. It became my duty, because of sealed orders from the Commander-in-chief, who enclosed a resolution adopted by Congress, to close the shops. From the day, censure was directed against me. I was not the instigator of it. Yet I was all to blame."

He sat up with his hands on his knees, looking fiercely into the next room.

"I would not feel so bitter, your Excellency," volunteered Anderson. "Military orders, however necessary, always seem oppressive to civilians and shopkeepers."

"I have labored well for the cause, and my reward has been this. I took Ticonderoga, although Allen got the credit for it. I would have taken Canada, if Congress had not blundered. I saved Lake Champlain with my flotilla,—a fleet that lived to no better purpose nor died more gloriously,—and for this I got no promotion, nor did I expect one. I won at Ridgefield and received a Major-Generalship, only to find myself outranked by five others. At Saratoga I was without a command, yet I succeeded in defeating an army. For that service I was accused of being drunk by the general in command, who, for his service, received a gold medal with a vote of thanks from Congress, while I—well, the people gave me their applause; Congress gave me a horse, but what I prize more than all,—these sword knots," he took hold of them as he spoke, "a personal offering from the Commander-in-chief. I gave my all. I received a few empty honors and the ingratitude of a jealous people."

He paused.

"General," began Marjorie, "you know the people still worship you and they do want you for their popular leader."

"I know differently," he snapped back. "I have already petitioned Congress for a grant of land in western New York, where I intend to lead the kind of life led by my friend Schuyler in Livingston, or the Van Renssalaers and other country gentlemen. My ambition now is to be a good citizen, for I intend never to draw a sword on the American side."

He again grew silent.

Whether he was sincere in his remarks, and his manner of expression seemingly revealed no other disposition of mind, or was swayed simply by some unfounded antipathy which caused the image of his aversion to become a sort of hallucination, Marjorie could not decide. She knew him to be impulsive and irrepressible, a man who, because of his deficiency in breadth, scope of intelligence, and strong moral convictions, invariably formed his opinions in public matter on his personal feelings. He was a man of moods, admirably suited withal for a command in the field where bluntness and abruptness of manner could cause him to rise to an emergency, but wholly unfitted for this reason for a diplomatic office where the utmost delicacy of tact and nicety of decision are habitually required.

She knew, moreover, that he ever bore a fierce grudge towards Congress for the slights which it had put upon him, and that this intense feeling, together with his indomitable self-will, had brought him into conflict with the established civil authority. He was Military Governor of the city and adjacent countryside, yet there existed an Executive Council of Pennsylvania for the care of the state, and the line of demarcation between the two powers never had been clearly drawn. Accordingly there soon arose many occasions for dispute, which a more even-tempered man would have had the foresight to avoid. His point of view was narrow, not only in affairs civil and political, but it must be said, in social and religious as well. Of all commanders, he was the most unsuited for the task.

Furthermore she knew that he was becoming decidedly more unpopular each day, not only because of the extravagance in his manner of living, but also because of his too frequent association with the Tory element of the city. While the British had held the city many of the more aristocratic inhabitants had given them active aid and encouragement, much to the displeasure of the more loyal though less important lower class. Consequently when the days of the evacuation had come and the city had settled down once again to its former style of living, many of the Tory element were compelled to leave town while those who had remained behind were practically proscribed. Small wonder was it that indignation ran riot when the first Military Governor openly cast his lot with the enemies of the cause and consorted with them freely and frequently.

It was entirely possible that he would abide by his decision to resign all public office and retire to private life, notwithstanding the fact that he already had at this same moment despatched a letter to General Washington requesting a command in the navy. But she read him differently and found herself surprised to learn of his intended withdrawal, for his very nature seemed to indicate that he would fight his cause to the bitter end, and that end one of personal satisfaction and revenge.

Several of the guests prepared to depart. The little group disbanded as Peggy made her way to their side.

Marjorie and John Anderson lost each other for the first time in the melee which ensued.

IV

"Perhaps I ought to return," Marjorie muttered to herself, now that she was quite alone. "I am sure that he dropped something."

And she began to retrace her steps.

She felt positive that she saw General Arnold accidentally dislodge what appeared to be a folded note from his belt when he took hold of the sword knots in the course of his conversation. Very likely it was a report of some nature, which had been hurriedly thrust into his belt during some more preoccupied moment. At any rate it might be safer in her hands than to be left to some less interested person. She would investigate at any rate and resolve her doubts.

Sure enough, there it was. Just behind the armchair in which he had been seated but a few moments before. None of the others had observed it, she thought, for she alone was in a position, a little to his left, to notice it, when it had become loosed.

She picked it up and regarded it carelessly, nervously, peering the while into the great room beyond to discover, if possible, an eye-witness to her secret. From its appearance it was no more than a friendly communication written on conventional letter paper. It was unsealed, or rather the seal had been broken and from the wrinkled condition of the paper gave evidence of not a little handling. It belonged to Peggy. There was no doubt about that, for there was her name in heavy bold script on the outside.

She balanced it in her hand, weighing, at the same time, within her mind, one or two possibilities. She might read it and then, if the matter required it, return it immediately to His Excellency with an explanation. Yet it would smack of dishonor to read the private correspondence of another without a sufficiently grave reason. It belonged to Peggy, who, in all probability, had been acquainting the General with its contents as Mr. Anderson and herself intruded upon the scene. She therefore resolved to return it unread.

Hastily folding it, she stuck it into her bodice, and made her way into the room where she became lost among the guests. There would be time enough when the formalities of the departure were over, when Peggy was less occupied, to hand it her. She would wait at any rate until later in the evening.



CHAPTER VIII

I

But she did not return the paper. For with the commotion of the guests in the several orders of their going, a serious business of felicitation and devoir was demanded alongside of which all other matters only served as distractions. Consequently, the note once placed within her bodice, all thought of it vanished for the remainder of the evening.

Only when she had returned home that night, fatigued and almost disgusted with the perfunctory performances of the evening, did she discover it, and then not until she was about to remove the garment within whose folds it lay concealed. It fell to the ground; she stooped to pick it up.

"Oh, dear! I quite forgot it. I must attend to it the first thing in the morning."

And she placed it on the dresser where it could not escape her eye. Then she retired.

But she did not sleep. There she lay wide awake tossing nervously to and fro. She tried to close her eyes only to find them wandering about the room in the obscure dimness, focusing themselves now on the old mahogany dresser, now on the little prie-Dieu against the inner wall with the small ivory crucifix outlined faintly above it, now on the chintz hangings that covered the window. She could hear her heart, pounding its great weight of bitterness against the pillow; and as she listened she thought of Stephen's arrest and of its thousand and one horrible consequences. She tried to congratulate herself on her sweet serenity and the serenity only mocked her and anticipation loomed as fiercely as before.

The next she knew was a quiet awakening, as if her mother's hand had been put gently on her arm. Outside ten thousand light leaves shivered gently and the birds were calling to one another in melodious tones. This was her first glimpse of the day and it sent her suddenly to her knees.

Stephen came late that afternoon. He had not been expected; yet she was happy because he came. She had done little that day; had not left the house, nor dressed for the occasion. The note was where she had left it, and all reference to it buried with her thoughts of the evening.

"I cannot yet tell how it has been decided. They went into executive session at once."

"But,... Surely,... They could not find you guilty?"

"Oh, well."

"Please.... Won't you tell me?"

"There is little to tell. It was very brief."

He could not become enthusiastic.

"Then you were put to trial?" she asked with an apprehension uncertain in quality.

"Yes."

"Go on. Tell me."

He was silent. He desired to withhold nothing from her, yet he could not find the words he wanted.

"What happened?" She was persistent.

"Well.... I don't know.... I soured on the whole proceeding. The court-martial met, the Regimental Court Martial, with three members. This was permissible. They began, reading the charge as preferred by Colonel Forrest, which was to the effect that I had been guilty of striking my superior officer, Colonel Forrest, by attempting to choke him. To this was added the accusation of abusive, threatening language as well as a threat of murder. I, of course, pleaded not guilty; nor did I prepare any defense. The affair was so trivial that I was surprised that it ever had been brought to trial."

"How long did the proceedings last?"

"They were very brief. Several witnesses were examined, the chief one being Mr. Anderson."

"I know him," remarked Marjorie.

"You know him?"

"I met him last evening at Shippens'."

"Did he say aught about me?"

"Not a word."

"Well, he appeared against me. After a few more preliminary questions I was put on the stand in my own defense. I told briefly the circumstances which led to the incident (I would not call it an assault, for I continually maintained it to be of a trivial nature and worthy only of an explanation). I told how the Colonel had used certain derogatory remarks against the faith that I believed and practiced, which occasioned a violent argument. This, I think, was the great mistake I made, for it appeared to make an unfavorable impression upon the Court. In this respect they were unquestionably on the side of Forrest. Then I related the remark incident to my action, and announced that I would repeat the deed under similar circumstances were the same disrespectful language directed against the Commander-in-chief. This, I fear, made little impression either since I was already attached to the staff of General Washington. And a jealous rival general was about to decide my guilt. That ended it. I was excused and the Court adjourned."

He paused.

"For these reasons I have serious misgivings as to my fate."

"What can happen to you?"

"I do not know. It may result in a suspension, and it may result in a verdict of 'not guilty.'"

"Will you know very soon?"

"I shall be summoned before them."

Neither spoke for a time.

"Do you know," observed Marjorie, "I greatly mistrust General Arnold and I fear that he already has decided against you."

"What causes you to say that?"

"Well ... I don't know ... I just think it. While listening to him last evening I drew that impression."

"Did he say anything against us?"

"He is enraged at Congress and he has long felt persecuted and insulted by the people. He desires a command in the navy and has already written Washington to that effect; and again he would petition Congress for a grant of land in New York where he would retire to private life, for he vows he never will again draw sword on the American side."

"Did he say this?" asked Stephen.

"He did."

"Do you think that he was sincere?"

"I really do. He talked with all the earnestness of a man of conviction. Somehow or other I greatly mistrust him. And he is extremely bigoted."

"I rather suspect this, although I have had no proofs of it. If he is, it will out very soon."

"And you may be assured, too, that he will have an able adjutant in Peggy. She is his counterpart in every particular."

He looked at her as she spoke, and was amazed by the excitement in her face. She talked excitedly; her eyes, those large vivacious brown eyes that looked out of her pretty oval face, were alight, and her face had gone pale.

"I was interested in them last evening and with the apparent zeal displayed by Peggy's mother in favor of the match. I would not be surprised to hear of an announcement from that source at any time."

"Has it reached that stage?"

"Most assuredly! I decided that they already are on terms of intimacy where secrets now obtain a common value."

"You think that?"

"Well.... I do.... Yes. I know, for instance that he had a letter in his possession which was addressed to her, which letter had its origin in New York."

"How came he by it?"

"She must have given it to him. I have it now."

"You have it?"

He sat up very much surprised.

"Where did you get it?"

"I found it."

"Did you read it?"

"No."

She smiled at him, and at his great perplexity over the apparent mystery.

And then she told him of the little party; of herself and Mr. Anderson, and their intrusion upon General Arnold and Peggy; of their conversation and the falling of the note; of her subsequent return for it together with the placing of it within her bodice and the state of temporary oblivion into which the incident finally had lapsed.

"You have that letter now?" he asked with no attempt to conceal his anxiety.

"Yes. Upstairs."

"May I see it? Really I would not ask this did I not think it quite important."

"Very well."

She left to fetch it.

"Who is this man, Anderson?" Stephen asked upon her return. "Do you know him?"

"No. But he is very engaging. He was my partner during the evening."

She did not deem it wise to tell him everything, at least not at this time.

"How long have you known him?" he inquired impatiently.

She smiled sweetly at him.

"Since last night," was the brief response.

"Where did he come from?"

"I scarce know. You yourself mentioned his name for the first time to me. I was greatly surprised when presented to him last night."

"Did he come with General Arnold's party, or is he a friend of Peggy's?"

"I don't think Peggy knew him before, although she may have met him with some of the officers before last evening. I should imagine from what you already know that he is acquainted with the Governor's party and through them received an invitation to be present.

"Did he say aught of himself?"

"Scarcely a thing. He has not been a resident of the city for any length of time, but where he originated, or what he purposes, I did not learn. I rather like him. He is well-mannered, refined and richly talented."

"I sensed immediately that he was endowed with engaging personal qualities, and gifted with more than ordinary abilities," Stephen commented. "I have yet to learn his history, which is one of my duties, notwithstanding the unfortunate state of affairs which has lately come to pass."

He stopped and took the letter which she held out to him. He opened it and read it carefully. Then he deliberately read it again.

"You say no one knows of this?"

"I am quite sure. Certainly no one saw me find it, although I am not certain that I alone saw it fall."

"You are sure that it was in the Governor's possession?"

"Quite. I saw it distinctly in his belt. I saw it fall to the ground when he caught hold of the sword knots."

He leaned forward and reflected for a moment with his eyes intent on the note which he held opened before him. Suddenly he sat back in his chair and looked straight at her.

"Marjorie," he said, "you promised to be of whatever assistance you could. Do you recall that promise?"

"Very well."

"Will you lend your assistance to me now?"

She hesitated, wondering to what extent the demand might be made.

"Are you unwilling?" he asked, for he perceived her timid misgiving.

"No. What is it you want me to do?"

"Simply this. Let me have this note."

She deliberated.

"Would not that be unfair to Peggy?"

She feared that her sense of justice was being violated.

"She does not know that you have it."

"But I mean to tell her."

"Please!... Well!... Well!... Need you do that immediately? Could you not let me have it for a few days? I shall return it to you. You can then take it to her."

"You will let no one see it?"

"Absolutely!"

"Very well. And you will return it to me?"

"I promise."

And so it was agreed that Stephen should take the letter with him, which he promised to return together with the earliest news of the result of his court-martial.

He stood up.

II

Stephen came out the little white gate closing it very deliberately behind him and immediately set off at a brisk pace down the street. Every fiber within him thrilled with energy. The road was dusty and hot, and his pace grew very strenuous and fervent. There was no breeze; there was no sound of wheels; all was quiet as the bells tolled out the hour of six. Nevertheless he trudged along with great haste without once stopping until he had reached the door of his lodgings.

He turned the key and entered, closing the door behind him and taking the greatest of care to see that it was properly bolted. Flinging his hat into a chair as he passed, he went immediately to the table which served as his desk. While he pulled himself close to it, he reached into his pocket for the letter. He opened it before him and read it. Then he sat back and read it again; this time aloud:

Co. 13

Headquarters, New York. 15 July, 1778.

Madame:—I am happy to have this opportunity to once again express my humble respects to you and to assure you that yourself together with your generous and hospitable friends are causing us much concern separated as we are by the duress of a merciless war. We lead a monotonous life, for outside of the regularities of army life, there is little to entertain us. Our hearts are torn with pangs of regret as we recall the golden days of the Mischienza.

I would I could be of some service to you here, that you may understand that my protestations of zeal made on former occasions were not without some degree of sincerity. Let me add, too, that your many friends here present unite with me in these same sentiments of unaffected and genuine devotion.

I beg you to present my best respects to your sisters, to the Misses Chew, and to Mrs. Shippen and Mrs. Chew.

I have the honor to be with the greatest regard, Madame, your most obedient and most humble servant.

W. CATHCART.

Miss Peggy Shippen, Philadelphia.

His face was working oddly, as if with mingled perplexity and pleasure; and he caught his lip in his teeth, as his manner was. What was this innocent note? Could it be so simple as it appeared? Vague possibilities passed through his mind.

The longer he gazed at it the more simple it became, so that he was on the point of folding it and replacing it in his pocket, sadly disconcerted at its insignificance. He had hoped that he might have stumbled across something of real value, not only some secret information concerning the designs of the enemy, but also some evidence of an incriminating nature against his own acquaintances in the city.

Suddenly he thought he saw certain letters dotted over, not entirely perceptible, yet quite discernible. He turned the paper over. The reverse was perfectly clear. He held it to the light but nothing appeared through.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed softly.

He looked closely again. Sure enough there were faint markings on several of the letters. The "H" was marked. So with the "V" in "have," and the "A" and the "L." Snatching a pencil and a sheet of paper he made a list of the letters so marked.

HVANLADERIIGAERODIRCUTN

This meant nothing. That was apparent; nor could he make sense out of any combination of letters. He knew that there were certain codes whereby the two progressions, arithmetical and geometric were employed in their composition, but this seemingly answered to none of them. He went over the list again, comparing them with the marked letters as found in the note. Yes, they were identical. He had copied them faithfully.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"So this was sent to Peggy from New York," he muttered to himself. "I strongly suspected that she was in communication with her British friends, although I never came in contact with the slightest evidence. This certainly proves it."

He held the letter at a distance from him, attentively surveying it.

"And General Arnold has been interested, too. Very likely, Marjorie's hypothesis is the true one. They had been reading the note when the newcomers arrived on the scene and the General stuck it in his belt until their greetings had been ended. Neither of them now know of its whereabouts; that much is certain."

He stood up suddenly and strode about the room, his hands clasped behind him. Going to the window, he peered out through the small panes of glass of the uncurtained upper half. There burned the light across the dusk—a patch of jeweled color in the far off western sky. Yet it awakened no emotion at all.

His mind was engaged in the most intricate process of thought. He deduced a hundred conclusions and rejected them with equal promptitude. He greatly admired General Arnold as the bravest leader in the line, whose courage, whose heroism, whose fearlessness had brought him signal successes. There was no more popular soldier in the army, nor one more capable of more effective service. To have his career clogged or goaded by a woman, who when she either loves or hates will dare anything, would be a dreadful calamity. Yet it seemed as if he had surrendered his better self.

This man Anderson puzzled him. Personally he was disposed to dislike him, that being the logical effect of his relations with him. At the Coffee House, where he had met him, and where he had suffered his better judgment to become dormant, it was this man who had brought him to the pitch of irritation by means of a religious argument, while at the trial it was the same Anderson who appeared as an excellent witness and who by his clever, deliberate and self-possessed manner, made a strong point for the Colonel in the minds of the court.

What was his origin? That he might never know, for of all subjects, this was the most artfully avoided. In the capacity of a civilian he was engaged in no fixed occupation so far as could be learned, and it was commonly known that he was a frequent visitor at the Governor's mansion. That he did not belong to the service, he knew very well, unless the man was affecting a disguise; this, however, he thought highly improbable. The French Alliance had been further confirmed by the arrival of the fleet, which brought many strangers to the city. Now as he thought of it, he had a certain manner about him somewhat characteristic of the French people, and it was entirely possible that he might have disembarked with the French visitors. He was a mystery anyhow.

"Strange I should stumble across this chap," he mumbled to himself.

III

He awoke with a start.

Just what the hour was, he could not know, for it was intensely dark. He reckoned that it could not be long after midnight, for it seemed as if he had scarcely fallen asleep. But there was a wonderful burst of light to his mind, a complete clarity of thought into which often those do awake who have fallen asleep in a state of great mental conflict. He opened his eyes and, as it were, beheld all that he was about to do; there was also a very vivid memory of his experience of the evening.

He arose hurriedly and struck a light. He seized the letter in search of the momentous something that had dawned upon him with wonderful intensity.

"Company Thirteen," he remarked with deliberate emphasis. "That must be the key."

And seizing a paper he wrote the order of letters which he had copied from the note a few hours before.

HVANLADERIIG

He stopped at the thirteenth, and began a second line immediately under the line he had just written.

AERODIRCUTN

It inserted perfectly when read up and down beginning with the letter "H". He completed the sentence.

HAVE ARNOLD AID RECRUITING

He could not believe his eyes. What did it all mean? What regiment was this? Why should this be sent from a British officer to Peggy Shippen? There were mixed considerations here.

There was a satisfaction, a very great satisfaction, in the knowledge that he was not entirely mistaken in his suspicions concerning Peggy. She was in communication with the British and perhaps had been for some time. This fact in itself was perfectly plain. The proof of it lay in his hand. Whether or not His Excellency was involved in the nefarious work was another question quite. The mere fact of the note being in his possession signified nothing, or if anything, no more than a coincidence. He might have read the note and, at the same time, have been entirely ignorant of the cipher, or he might have received this hidden information from the lips of Peggy herself, who undoubtedly had deciphered it at once.

Yet what was the meaning of it all? There was no new call for volunteers, although, Heaven knows, there was an urgent need for them, the more especially after the severe winter at Valley Forge. Recruits had become exceedingly scarce, many of whom were already deserting to the British army at the rate of over a hundred a month while those who remained were without food or clothing. And when they were paid, they could buy, only with the greatest difficulty, a single bushel of wheat from the fruits of their four month's labor. And did it prove to be true that a new army was about to be recruited, why should the enemy manifest so much interest? The new set of difficulties into which he was now involved were more intricate than ever before.

He extinguished the light and went to bed.

The next day a number of copies of the New York Gazette and Weekly Mercury of the issue of July 13, 1778, found their way into the city. They were found to contain the following advertisement:

For the encouragement of all Gentlemen Volunteers, Who are willing to serve in his Majesty's Regt. of Roman Catholic Volunteers,

Commanded by

Lieut.—Col. Commandant,

ALFRED CLIFTON

During the present wanton and unnatural Rebellion, AND NO LONGER, The sum of FOUR POUNDS, will be given above the usual Bounty, A suit of NEW CLOTHES, And every other necessary to complete a Gentleman soldier.

Those who are willing to show their attachment to their King and country by engaging in the above regiment, will call at Captain M'Kennon, at No. 51, in Cherry-street, near the Ship Yards, NEW YORK, or at Major John Lynch, encamped at Yellow-Hook, where they will receive present pay and good quarters.

N. B.—Any person bringing a well-bodied loyal subject to either of the above places, shall receive ONE GUINEA for his trouble.

God Save the King.



CHAPTER IX

I

It was not until the following Wednesday night that John Anderson was ready to pay his respects to Mistress Marjorie.

He had worked on the miniature since Saturday, and had regarded his finished product with eminent satisfaction. He had drawn her as she appeared to him on the night of the reception in the pose which he had best remembered her during the interval when she sat out the dance with him; her head turned partly towards him, revealing her small oval face surmounted by a wealth of brown hair, powdered to a gray; her small nose with just a suggestion of a dilatation lending to the face an expression of strength that the rest of the countenance only gave color to; the mouth, firmly set, its lines curving upward, as it should be, to harmonize with her disposition; the eyes, a soft brown, full of candor and sincerity, delicately shadowed by slender and arched eyebrows on a smooth forehead.

Marjorie could not conceal her enthusiasm as he handed it to her. Unable to restrain her curiosity, she arose hurriedly and went to the window to benefit by the less obscure light.

"Is—am I as pretty as that?" she exclaimed from her vantage point, without lifting her eyes from the portrait.

"Only more so," responded Anderson. "My memory poorly served me."

"Lud!" she remarked, holding it at arms length from her, "'Tis vastly flattering. I scarce recognize myself."

She returned to her chair.

"I swear on my honor, that it fails to do you full justice."

She continued to study it, paying but little heed to his remark. It was a water-colored portrait done on ivory of the most delicate workmanship and design, set in a fine gold case, delicately engraved, the whole presenting an appearance of beauty, richly colored. She turned it over and saw the letters J.A.M.A. interlaced over the triplet: