"Harman Blennerhassett, I arrest you in the name and by the authority of the State of Ohio." "The hell you do!" a gruff voice responded from the group of armed men, who instantly levelled their guns at the intruder. "Take your hands off that man, and take yourself away, or we will blow your damned brains out!" "Don't shoot! don't shoot!" cried the foiled agent of the State of Ohio, taken by surprise. "You won't be rash enough to kill an old army officer, will you?" "We will be rash enough to shoot any man who interferes with our affairs. Who the devil are you?" "I am General Tupper." He came forward, into the light of the fire, and was recognized by several. "You say you represent the State of Ohio," Blennerhassett faltered. "This island belongs to the State of Virginia; you have no business here." "Blow his head off!" growled one of the guards, and again the recruits covered the spy with their muskets. "For God's sake, men, don't fire! Upon my word and honor, I came here with good intent. All Marietta is friendly to you, Mr. Blennerhassett. Can't you be persuaded to give up your rash design? You are rushing to your own ruin." "Put down your guns," commanded Blennerhassett. "Time is flying," whispered the wife, impatiently. "Let them scare him away." "If you delay us longer, General Tupper, I cannot be answerable for what my men may do." The cocking of a gun warned the well-intentioned officer to hurry away. "Farewell," he shouted back, "I wish you a safe escape down the river, and a fortunate adventure." The speech was answered by a yell of derision from the boatmen as they leapt on board the batteau, muskets in hand. "Good-bye, my love," whispered Blennerhassett, clasping his wife in a parting embrace. "Good-bye, dear!" she said, and kissed him. "Be strong! Be brave! All will end well. God bless you! Think of a glorious future!" She turned to go, looked back, turned again from the icy margin of the river, and started homeward; but, after taking a few steps, she again stopped and stood a minute, shivering, and weeping under the bare boughs of the great oak tree beneath which Burr had read aloud to her one of her own sentimental poems. Groaning in spirit, and heart-stung by pangs of self-reproach, she hurried up the slope of the carriage road alone. Through the drifting snow the brave woman returned to her house, which, seen dimly through a veil of falling flakes, had looked to her from a distance like an unsubstantial pile--a phantom habitation for spectres. As she entered its dark hall the Geneva clock struck twelve. XXV. HEROINE AND HERO.