I was almost without the hope that it would turn him back, but it did--from the very threshold of my peril. He took it precisely as I had hoped he might; as a notice that Sir Henry wished to see him without delay. No sooner was he gone into the house next door than I ran up-stairs to present myself again to Arnold. As before, he was preoccupied with his work, but gave me his attention when I stood deferentially aside and waited. “There was a little matter which I meant to mention and forgot, General,” I began, trying my best to be routine-like. “It has come in my way once to stand sponsor for a rascally fellow-colonist of mine, named Champe, and I’m sorry to have to do it again, or rather to report him. Last night you entrusted him with despatches for Major Simcoe, and I regret to say that I found him some time afterward in a condition totally unfit to be responsible for his duty. You will understand when I say that he had gone so far as to show his despatches and to boast of his errand. I promptly put him under guard, took your letter and delivered it myself to the major.” “That was right,” he said approvingly; and then he asked the question I had hoped he would ask. “What did Major Simcoe say, when he saw you in Champe’s place?” Here was my opportunity, and I seized it immediately. “Major Simcoe was not over-courteous to me. For some reason or other he, and many of his fellow officers in the king’s service, seems very ready to put a slight upon us of the Loyal Americans, General, and when he began to question me dictatorially about Champe, I--well, for the honor of the legion I felt constrained to put him off, asking him in effect, if it were any of his business if you chose to send a sergeant of your own regiment on another errand.” I saw before I was through that I was touching the proper chord. It was the gossip of the town that Arnold was practically ostracized by the officers of the regular army, and it was equally common talk that this was our traitor’s sorest point. So I was quite prepared to have him approve my course, as he did with his eyes glooming, and the furrows deepening in his brow. “You did quite right, Captain Page,” he said, “though I doubt not you were too easy with the drunken sergeant. Have you Champe still under lock and key?” “No,” I admitted; “he was so penitent this morning, and so anxious to get away before the story of his misbehavior should come to your ears, that I let him go to seek a boat in which he could return to his company. He can be disciplined later, if you so direct; though, as a fellow Virginian, I hope you will see how good a soldier he can be on the battle-field before you do it.”