[Arnold _speaks to servant in dumb-show. Exit servant._] _Arnold_. The very coat I did the treason in, By accident preserved, and then,--and then-- I could not cast it off: it clung to me-- Waiting this day. It lay there like a dog, Patient against a master's drunkenness, Watching his face. [_Enter servant with the coat of the American uniform, and the sword-knots._] Thou one unbroken link with all the men I walked with on the mountain heights of youth, When glory shone, and trumpets heralded, And drums were rolling! We were patriots then, Warren, and Putnam, Lincoln, Knox, and Schuyler, Morgan, and Stark, Montgomery, Sullivan-- And scores of faces burnished by the winds, That shone with glory-- [_He takes off the coat of his British uniform, the servant assisting, and puts on the coat of his old American uniform._] Never weep, dear wife. I seek the truth you teach me. It is thus Your thoughts do guide me;--and I must go back To where I lost the way. [_Showing sword-knots._] That ornament Washington gave me,--with such words of praise As must preserve it till the judgment day Against corruption. Should I meet that man, Will his reluctant and offended shade Pass sadly on? Or will he greet me there,-- There, but not here. There, there, but never here! On toward that shadowy spot I blindly go, Claiming the past. [_He lies down on the couch, and_ Mrs. Arnold _kneels by his side. Exit_ Death.] _Both Choruses_. Surely the past must be allowed to all men; and not to him alone. What good there was in us cannot be lost. God forgets not the virtue of those who have failed; and why should man seek to judge them? Verily all courage is immortal: the man himself cannot kill it. Lo, what great things are done through even bad men; and this man had in him much goodness. [_A pause. Distant military music. Four young boys dressed in white, and bearing tall spears with little banners attached to the tips, enter and stand each at one corner of the couch. The arrangement suggests a medieval church tomb, of which_ Mrs. Arnold's _kneeling figure forms a part._] _Both Choruses_. Not on the shores of America-- Not on our shuddering strand, Can Arnold's tomb be laid. Nor in his land of illusions-- Britain's contemptuous Isle, Can stone be added to stone. Yet in a corner of Memory, Hallowed by terrible pain, Stand the stones of his grave. There, his trophies of victory, Piled in marshal array, Gorgeous, perennial-- Spoils, heroic, tumultuous, Emblems, worthy remembrance-- Marking a hero's grave.