I
But she did not return the paper. For with the commotion of the guests in the several orders of their going, a serious business of felicitation and devoir was demanded alongside of which all other matters only served as distractions. Consequently, the note once placed within her bodice, all thought of it vanished for the remainder of the evening.
Only when she had returned home that night, fatigued and almost disgusted with the perfunctory performances of the evening, did she discover it, and then not until she was about to remove the garment within whose folds it lay concealed. It fell to the ground; she stooped to pick it up.
"Oh, dear! I quite forgot it. I must attend to it the first thing in the morning."
And she placed it on the dresser where it could not escape her eye. Then she retired.
But she did not sleep. There she lay wide awake tossing nervously to and fro. She tried to close her eyes only to find them wandering about the room in the obscure dimness, focusing themselves now on the old mahogany dresser, now on the little prie-Dieu against the inner wall with the small ivory crucifix outlined faintly above it, now on the chintz hangings that covered the window. She could hear her heart, pounding its great weight of bitterness against the pillow; and as she listened she thought of Stephen's arrest and of its thousand and one horrible consequences. She tried to congratulate herself on her sweet serenity and the serenity only mocked her and anticipation loomed as fiercely as before.
The next she knew was a quiet awakening, as if her mother's hand had been put gently on her arm. Outside ten thousand light leaves shivered gently and the birds were calling to one another in melodious tones. This was her first glimpse of the day and it sent her suddenly to her knees.
Stephen came late that afternoon. He had not been expected; yet she was happy because he came. She had done little that day; had not left the house, nor dressed for the occasion. The note was where she had left it, and all reference to it buried with her thoughts of the evening.
"I cannot yet tell how it has been decided. They went into executive session at once."
"But,... Surely,... They could not find you guilty?"
"Oh, well."
"Please.... Won't you tell me?"
"There is little to tell. It was very brief."
He could not become enthusiastic.
"Then you were put to trial?" she asked with an apprehension uncertain in quality.
"Yes."
"Go on. Tell me."
He was silent. He desired to withhold nothing from her, yet he could not find the words he wanted.
"What happened?" She was persistent.
"Well.... I don't know.... I soured on the whole proceeding. The court-martial met, the Regimental Court Martial, with three members. This was permissible. They began, reading the charge as preferred by Colonel Forrest, which was to the effect that I had been guilty of striking my superior officer, Colonel Forrest, by attempting to choke him. To this was added the accusation of abusive, threatening language as well as a threat of murder. I, of course, pleaded not guilty; nor did I prepare any defense. The affair was so trivial that I was surprised that it ever had been brought to trial."
"How long did the proceedings last?"
"They were very brief. Several witnesses were examined, the chief one being Mr. Anderson."
"I know him," remarked Marjorie.
"You know him?"
"I met him last evening at Shippens'."
"Did he say aught about me?"
"Not a word."
"Well, he appeared against me. After a few more preliminary questions I was put on the stand in my own defense. I told briefly the circumstances which led to the incident (I would not call it an assault, for I continually maintained it to be of a trivial nature and worthy only of an explanation). I told how the Colonel had used certain derogatory remarks against the faith that I believed and practiced, which occasioned a violent argument. This, I think, was the great mistake I made, for it appeared to make an unfavorable impression upon the Court. In this respect they were unquestionably on the side of Forrest. Then I related the remark incident to my action, and announced that I would repeat the deed under similar circumstances were the same disrespectful language directed against the Commander-in-chief. This, I fear, made little impression either since I was already attached to the staff of General Washington. And a jealous rival general was about to decide my guilt. That ended it. I was excused and the Court adjourned."
He paused.
"For these reasons I have serious misgivings as to my fate."
"What can happen to you?"
"I do not know. It may result in a suspension, and it may result in a verdict of 'not guilty.'"
"Will you know very soon?"
"I shall be summoned before them."
Neither spoke for a time.
"Do you know," observed Marjorie, "I greatly mistrust General Arnold and I fear that he already has decided against you."
"What causes you to say that?"
"Well ... I don't know ... I just think it. While listening to him last evening I drew that impression."
"Did he say anything against us?"
"He is enraged at Congress and he has long felt persecuted and insulted by the people. He desires a command in the navy and has already written Washington to that effect; and again he would petition Congress for a grant of land in New York where he would retire to private life, for he vows he never will again draw sword on the American side."
"Did he say this?" asked Stephen.
"He did."
"Do you think that he was sincere?"
"I really do. He talked with all the earnestness of a man of conviction. Somehow or other I greatly mistrust him. And he is extremely bigoted."
"I rather suspect this, although I have had no proofs of it. If he is, it will out very soon."
"And you may be assured, too, that he will have an able adjutant in Peggy. She is his counterpart in every particular."
He looked at her as she spoke, and was amazed by the excitement in her face. She talked excitedly; her eyes, those large vivacious brown eyes that looked out of her pretty oval face, were alight, and her face had gone pale.
"I was interested in them last evening and with the apparent zeal displayed by Peggy's mother in favor of the match. I would not be surprised to hear of an announcement from that source at any time."
"Has it reached that stage?"
"Most assuredly! I decided that they already are on terms of intimacy where secrets now obtain a common value."
"You think that?"
"Well.... I do.... Yes. I know, for instance that he had a letter in his possession which was addressed to her, which letter had its origin in New York."
"How came he by it?"
"She must have given it to him. I have it now."
"You have it?"
He sat up very much surprised.
"Where did you get it?"
"I found it."
"Did you read it?"
"No."
She smiled at him, and at his great perplexity over the apparent mystery.
And then she told him of the little party; of herself and Mr. Anderson, and their intrusion upon General Arnold and Peggy; of their conversation and the falling of the note; of her subsequent return for it together with the placing of it within her bodice and the state of temporary oblivion into which the incident finally had lapsed.
"You have that letter now?" he asked with no attempt to conceal his anxiety.
"Yes. Upstairs."
"May I see it? Really I would not ask this did I not think it quite important."
"Very well."
She left to fetch it.
"Who is this man, Anderson?" Stephen asked upon her return. "Do you know him?"
"No. But he is very engaging. He was my partner during the evening."
She did not deem it wise to tell him everything, at least not at this time.
"How long have you known him?" he inquired impatiently.
She smiled sweetly at him.
"Since last night," was the brief response.
"Where did he come from?"
"I scarce know. You yourself mentioned his name for the first time to me. I was greatly surprised when presented to him last night."
"Did he come with General Arnold's party, or is he a friend of Peggy's?"
"I don't think Peggy knew him before, although she may have met him with some of the officers before last evening. I should imagine from what you already know that he is acquainted with the Governor's party and through them received an invitation to be present.
"Did he say aught of himself?"
"Scarcely a thing. He has not been a resident of the city for any length of time, but where he originated, or what he purposes, I did not learn. I rather like him. He is well-mannered, refined and richly talented."
"I sensed immediately that he was endowed with engaging personal qualities, and gifted with more than ordinary abilities," Stephen commented. "I have yet to learn his history, which is one of my duties, notwithstanding the unfortunate state of affairs which has lately come to pass."
He stopped and took the letter which she held out to him. He opened it and read it carefully. Then he deliberately read it again.
"You say no one knows of this?"
"I am quite sure. Certainly no one saw me find it, although I am not certain that I alone saw it fall."
"You are sure that it was in the Governor's possession?"
"Quite. I saw it distinctly in his belt. I saw it fall to the ground when he caught hold of the sword knots."
He leaned forward and reflected for a moment with his eyes intent on the note which he held opened before him. Suddenly he sat back in his chair and looked straight at her.
"Marjorie," he said, "you promised to be of whatever assistance you could. Do you recall that promise?"
"Very well."
"Will you lend your assistance to me now?"
She hesitated, wondering to what extent the demand might be made.
"Are you unwilling?" he asked, for he perceived her timid misgiving.
"No. What is it you want me to do?"
"Simply this. Let me have this note."
She deliberated.
"Would not that be unfair to Peggy?"
She feared that her sense of justice was being violated.
"She does not know that you have it."
"But I mean to tell her."
"Please!... Well!... Well!... Need you do that immediately? Could you not let me have it for a few days? I shall return it to you. You can then take it to her."
"You will let no one see it?"
"Absolutely!"
"Very well. And you will return it to me?"
"I promise."
And so it was agreed that Stephen should take the letter with him, which he promised to return together with the earliest news of the result of his court-martial.
He stood up.