The fact that the ruling powers of the city were bitterly opposed to the Military Governor was not wholly indicative of the pulse of the people. General Arnold was ever regarded with the highest esteem by the members of the army. A successful leader, a brave soldier, a genial comrade, he was easily the most beloved general after General Washington. With the citizen body of Philadelphia he was on fairly good terms,--popular during the early days of his administration, although somewhat offensive of late because of his indiscretion and impetuosity. Still he was not without his following, and whereas he had made himself odious to a great number of people by his manner of life and of command, there were a greater number of people who were ready to condone his faults out of regard for his brilliant services in the past. His enemies gloated over his misfortune. Everybody believed that, and it was commonly understood that General Arnold believed it, too. But would he overcome his enemies by retrieving the past and put to shame their vulgar enthusiasm by rising to heights of newer and greater glory? Or would he yield to the more natural propensities of retaliation or despair? A man is no greater than the least of his virtues; but he who has acquired self-control has founded a virtuous inheritance. With thoughts of this nature were the trio occupied. For several minutes no one spoke. Mr. Allison leaned against the table, his right arm extended along its side, playing with a bodkin that lay within reach; the sergeant sat in silence, watching the face of his entertainer; while Marjorie lolled in her great chair, her eyes downcast, heavy, like two great weights. At length Sergeant Griffin made as if to go. Marjorie arose at once to bid him adieu. "You said you came direct?" she reminded him. "Yes, Miss Allison." "You saw----" she hesitated, but quickly added, "Captain Meagher?" She would have said "Stephen" but bethought herself. "No, Miss. Not since the trial." "He was not present?" "No. He is with His Excellency. Several days ago I saw him and he bade me come here with the report of the finding." "That was all?" "Yes, Miss." "Thank you. We can never repay your kindness." "Its performance was my greatest delight." "Thank you. Good night!" She withdrew into the hall. CHAPTER XI I More sin is attributed to the ruling passion of a man than to the forbidden pleasures of the world, or the violent assaults of the Evil One. Under its domination and tyranny the soul suffers shipwreck and destruction on the rocks of despair and final impenitence. It frequently lies buried beneath the most imperturbable countenance, manifesting itself only at times, often on the occasion of some unusual joy or sadness. It responds to one antidote; but the antidote requires a man of coarse fiber for its self-administration.