At last he called me, and I went in. His forehead and the powdered hair about it were in fact wet, like those of a man who is coming out of an ague. Indeed, he looked so ill that I ventured to ask after his health. He replied that he was well. That infamous court-martial business annoyed him, and as to Mr. Reed, if there were any fight in the man, he would have him out and get done with him--which seemed imprudent talk, to say no more. “Captain Wynne,” he went on, “early to-morrow you will ride through Bristol to the ferry below Trenton. Cross and proceed with all haste to South Amboy. At the Lamb Tavern you will meet an officer from Sir Henry Clinton. Deliver to him this despatch in regard to exchange of prisoners. He may or may not have a letter for you to bring back. In this package are passes from me, and one from Sir Henry Clinton, in case you meet with any Tory parties.” “I shall be sure to meet them in west Jersey. Pardon me, sir, but would it not be easier to pass through our own lines in the middle Jerseys?” “You have your orders, Mr. Wynne,” he replied severely. I bowed. Then he seemed to hesitate, and I stood waiting his will. “The despatch,” he said, “is open in case it becomes needful to show it Perhaps you had better read it.” This sounded unusual, but I opened it, and read to the effect that the exchanges would go on if Sir Henry did not see fit to alter his former proposal, but that some time might elapse before the lists on our side were made out. “The officer charged with this letter will be unable to give any further information, as he has no powers to act for me. “I have the honour to be “Your obedient, humble servant, “BENEDICT ARNOLD, “_Major-General in command of Philadelphia and the western Jerseys_.” I looked up. “Is that all?” “Not quite. If it chance that no officer appears to meet you at Amboy, you will return at once.” Very glad of relief from the routine of rather distasteful duties, I rode away at dawn the next day up the Bristol road. I was stopped, as I supposed I should be, by a small band of Tory partisans, but after exhibiting my British pass I was permitted to proceed. Between Trenton and Amboy I met a party of our own horse, and had some trouble until I allowed their leader, a stupid lout, to read my open despatch, when he seemed satisfied, and sent on two troopers with me, whom I left near Amboy. At the inn I waited a day, when a ketch appeared, and an officer, stepping ashore, came up from the beach to meet me. I saw, as he drew near, that it was Arthur Wynne. “Glad to see you,” he cried, in a quite hearty way. “It is an unexpected pleasure. Andre was to have come, but he is ill. He desires his regards and particular compliments.”