He said: “Mr. Wynne, I have writ a letter, which I am allowed to send to General Washington. Will you see that he has it in person? It asks that I may die a soldier’s death. All else is done. My mother--but no matter. I have wound up my earthly affairs. I am assured, through the kindness of his Excellency, that my letters and effects will reach my friends and those who are still closer to me. I had hoped to see Mr. Hamilton to-night, that I might ask him to deliver to your chief the letter I now give you. But he has not yet returned, and I must trust it to you to make sure that it does not fail to be considered. That is all, I think.” I said I would do my best, and was there no more--no errand of confidence--nothing else? “No,” he replied thoughtfully; “no, I think not. I shall never forget your kindness.” Then he smiled and added, “My ‘never’ is a brief day for me, Wynne, unless God permits us to remember in the world where I shall be to-morrow.” I hardly recall what answer I made. I was ready to cry like a child. He went on to bid me say to the good Attorney-General Chew that he had not forgotten his pleasant hospitalities, and he sent also some amiable message to the women of his house and to my aunt and to the Shippens, speaking with the ease and unrestraint of a man who looks to meet you at dinner next week, and merely says a brief good-by. I promised to charge myself with his messages, and said at last that many officers desired me to express to him their sorrow at his unhappy situation, and that all men thought it hard that the life of an honest soldier was to be taken in place of that of a villain and coward who, if he had an atom of honour, would give himself up. “May I beg of you, sir,” he returned, “to thank these gentlemen of your army? ‘Tis all I can do; and as to General Arnold--no, Wynne, he is not one to do that; I could not expect it.” Before I rose to go on his errand I said,--and I was a little embarrassed,--“May I be pardoned, sir, if I put to you a quite personal question?” “Assuredly,” he returned. “What is it, and how can a poor devil in my situation oblige you?” I said: “I have but of late learned that the exchanges were all settled when I met my cousin, Arthur Wynne, at Amboy. Could it have been that the letter I bore had anything to do with this treason of General Arnold? Within a day or two this thought has come to me.” Seeing that he hesitated, I added, “Do not answer me unless you see fit; it is a matter quite personal to myself.”