During the period of calm succeeding the paroxysm of fever, an event occurred which threw more mystery than ever around the career of Roderick Barclugh. One morning very early before the break of day, when not a sound disturbed the sick-room but the tick of the clock, and an occasional ship’s bell announcing the change of the watch, a loud rap sounded on the front door. Segwuna was all alone. She went to the door, and there stood a burly Swedish fisherman whose eyes bulged in astonishment to see a woman appear. “What do you want?” asked Segwuna sweetly. “I want to see Maister Baarkloo,” drawled the Swede. “He is very sick with the _peste_, I do not believe that he is able to see any one,” spoke up Segwuna. “I haf sam lettar for heem, aand I give to heem--nobodday alse. I keep not mysalf,” argued the Swede doggedly, as he started to come in. Segwuna stood in the doorway attempting to block his passage, but the Swede brushed her to one side and went straight for Barclugh’s room, and Segwuna followed closely after him. When the Swede reached the door of the sick man’s room, he raised his hat and tiptoed up to the bedside of Barclugh. As he stood beside the bed he drew out of his pocket a long sealed envelope, addressed: “Mr. Gustavus, “Philadelphia. “From John Anderson, Esq., Merchant.” The Swede hesitatingly looked at Barclugh and saw him lying there and staring with a glassy look in his eyes, unable to speak or to recognize the Swede. The fisherman turned stolidly to Segwuna as he said: “I do my duty. I gav to nobodday alse.” As he said this he left the packet on the bed, turned with a sad air, and walked out of the house as mysteriously as he had come. Segwuna took up the envelope and examined the address. She knew that the Swede was a fisherman from the New Jersey coast. She had seen Roderick Barclugh walk to the sloop of war at Paules’ Hook with Major Andre, and she had seen them both leave General Clinton’s house together. She found Roderick Barclugh in Philadelphia, when she returned from New York. He could not reach here by the sloop-of-war, so he must have landed on the coast and have been brought here by the fisherman. As these thoughts ran through her mind, she exclaimed: “I have found it! The letter has traveled the same course, and John Anderson is John Andre.” What this shrewd woman could fathom out of the statements in Barclugh’s delirium and what she had seen in New York, was that Arnold was to go over to the British. If Arnold got West Point, she could put two and two together and connect him with the twenty thousand pounds sterling and the General’s commission in the British army. Segwuna reasoned to herself as she watched the sick man, and thought of what she ought to do: