“Only what all the town is whispering: that two of Washington’s emissaries, masking as deserters from the rebel army, are here for the purpose of abducting you, sir; that these men--the better to cover their designs--are enlisted in the Loyal Americans; and that these two, a rank and a warrant officer, are missing.” “You heard all this?” he queried slowly. “And in the face of it you come here to stand a night guard over my house?” “Surely, sir; and why not? It seemed a moment when loyalty might do well to assert itself; the more since some suspicious occurrences--” “You are either a very brave and true man, or a very rash one, Captain Page,” he said, breaking in upon me. “Did they not whisper you the names of these two suspected men?” “No.” He frowned and looked away. “I could almost find it in my heart to wish they had,” he said, half to himself, I thought. And then, more pointedly to me: “There is an order out for the arrest of these men--an order issued last night by Sir Henry Clinton, himself. It specifies the names:--Captain Richard Page and Sergeant John Champe.” Now that the worst had come, the burden tumbled suddenly from my shoulders and I became a man again. “That is indeed most unfortunate, General Arnold,” I said calmly; “not for us, but for you.” “Ah? Possibly you will tell me why.” “Because justice, in pursuing us, may perchance be even a little blinder than she is usually portrayed; and while we are getting our trial and acquittance, the real criminals will go free. But that is neither here nor there. Will you take our swords, General? or shall we go and surrender them to the commandant at Fort George?” He nailed me up again with the sifting, probing eyes, and I could almost fancy I saw a lurking smile in their farthest underdepths. “Are you really the true man that Mistress--ah--the person who vouches for you--insists that you are? Or are you the shiftiest, hardiest daredevil villain that ever lived, Captain Page? I confess I don’t know.” “The court-martial may or may not answer that question for you, General Arnold,” I said coldly. “For myself it matters little, so long as I have the consciousness of duty well done, or well attempted; and I think Sergeant Champe would say the same. Have we your permission to go and surrender ourselves?” He stopped and paced a step or two, his frown deepening. When he spoke, he took a new tack and a little ray of hope began to glimmer in the murk of doom. “I have been officiously ignored in this matter, as in many others,” he complained, in the manner of one who lets his inner thought slip into speech. “The hearsay word of some spy, whom I have never been permitted to see and question, is taken, and an order goes out to apprehend two of my own men--men who are responsible to me for their actions, and to no one else. Tell me, Captain Page, have you ever given Lieutenant Castner special reason to dislike you?” “Never to my knowledge,” said I, wondering what was coming.