“No,” he replied; “I see no reason why I should not. Yes, it was the first of the letters sent to Sir Henry over General Arnold’s signature. Your cousin suggested you as a messenger whose undoubted position and name would insure the safe carriage of what meant more to us than its mere contents seemed to imply. Other messengers had become unsafe; it was needful at once to find a certain way to reply to us. The letter you bore was such as an officer might carry, as it dealt seemingly with nothing beyond questions of exchange of prisoners. For these reasons, on a hint from Captain Wynne, you were selected as a person beyond suspicion. I was ill at the time, as I believe Mr. Wynne told you.” “It is only too plain,” said I. “It must have been well known at our headquarters in Jersey that this exchange business was long since settled. Had I been overhauled by any shrewd or suspicious officer, the letter might well have excited doubt and have led to inquiry.” “Probably; that was why you were chosen--as a man of known character. By the way, sir, I had no share in the selection, nor did I know how it came about, until my recovery. I had no part in it.” I thanked him for thus telling me of his having no share in the matter. “You were ordered,” he continued, “as I recall it, to avoid your main army in the Jerseys; you can now see why. There is no need of further concealment.” It was clear enough. “I owe you,” I said, “my excuses for intruding a business so personal.” “And why not? I am glad to serve you. It is rather a relief, sir, to talk of something else than my own hopeless case. Is there anything else? Pray go on; I am at your service.” “You are most kind. I have but one word to add; Arthur Wynne was--nay, must have been--deep in this business?” “Ah, now you have asked too much,” he replied; “but it is I who am to blame. I had no right to name Captain Wynne.” “You must not feel uneasy. I owe him no love, Mr. Andre; but I will take care that you do not suffer. His suggestion that I should be made use of put in peril not my life, but my honour. It is not to my interest that the matter should ever get noised abroad.” “I see,” he said. “Your cousin must be a strange person. Do with what I have said as seems right to you. I shall be--or rather,” and he smiled quite cheerfully, “I _am_ content. One’s grammar forgets to-morrow sometimes.” His ease and quiet seemed to me amazing. But it was getting late, and I said I must go at once. As I was in act to leave, he took my hand and said: “There are no thanks a man about to die can give that I do not offer you, Mr. Wynne. Be assured your visit has helped me. It is much to see the face of a friend. All men have been good to me and kind, and none more so than his Excellency. If to-morrow I could see, as I go to death, one face I have known in happier hours--it is much to ask--I may count on you, I am sure. Ah, I see I can! And my letter--you will be sure to do your best?”