Having been twice over the route in daytime, and twice at night, I had no difficulty in finding the house which sheltered Arnold’s wife and child. A negro house-servant opened to my knock, and upon my asking for Mistress Arnold, admitted me, though not too willingly I fancied. Once indoors, I was shown to a richly furnished room opening off the hall, and was told to warm myself at the fire while the lady was making ready to see me. I meant to have my duty over with first, and then to see Beatrix afterward, if anything short of force would secure me a sight of her. But as to that, it seemed only fair to borrow a little of the probabilities. If I could make my standing good with Mistress Margaret Shippen, I might be able to persuade her to act as my intercessor. The lady, whose name was on the letter I carried, did not keep me waiting long: and coming, she entered the room so quietly that she surprised me sprawling like a mannerless trooper before the fire; for which I quickly begged her pardon when I found my feet and made my best bow. Whereupon she was good enough to give me her hand like an old acquaintance, and to say that we poor soldiers had little enough comfort to be denied the ease a cheerful fire afforded. At this I handed her the letter and she sat down to read it. I gave her all the privacy there was, staring so hard into the heart of the blazing logs, and thinking so pointedly of my own love-affair that I did not know when she finished. “This is your night for sailing, Captain Page?” she asked gently, and her low voice called me back suddenly from the love-dream backgrounded by the mellowing fire. I said it was; and after that she sat for a long time gazing with me into the glowing embers. When she began to speak again, I knew why she had hesitated. “Your place is to be near General Arnold, isn’t it, Mr. Page?” she asked, saying it as one who feels the way carefully. “I hope so,” I replied, hating myself for saying the double-meaning words for her ears. Then I added: “I am still detached; I have no command; and Mr.---the general--is having me serve as his aide while we are here in New York.” “Yes,” she said quietly. “He promised me you should be near him.” And then I knew who was the “unimpeachable authority” and that she had vouched for me, and was straightway humbled and made horribly ashamed and remorseful. “You spoke for me? You should not have done that, dear lady,” I said quickly. So much, at least, I owed to common manhood, I thought. “And why not, pray? If you could know, Mr. Page, how it comforts me to have the assurance that General Arnold has at least one honorable gentleman near him--”