III
"You here?" she asked.
He did not reply, nor make any movement.
"Another resignation? or applying for a new command?"
He now turned full about and faced her.
"No. I was just thinking."
"Of what?"
She stood before him, her arms akimbo.
"Of many things. First of all we must leave here."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"Well then, where?"
"To New York."
"Do you mean it?"
Now she sat down, pulling a chair near to him in order that she might converse the more readily.
"I am thinking of writing for a new command in the army."
He thought best not to tell her of his original purpose in writing, nor of the letter which he had received from Anderson. Whatever foul schemes he may have concocted, he did not desire to acquaint her with their full nature. Enough for her to know that he intended to defect without her being a party to the plot.
"Did I interrupt you? Pardon me!" she made as if to go.
"Stay. That can wait. You were right. They were against me."
"I felt it all the time. You know yourself how they despise you."
"But I never thought——"
"What?" was the interruption. "You never thought? You did, but you were not man enough to realize it. Reed would stop at nothing, and if the colonists gain complete independence, the Catholic population will give you no peace. That you already know. You have persecuted them."
"What are they? A bare twenty or twenty-five thousand out of a population of, let us say, three million."
"No matter. They will grow strong after the war. Unfortunately they have stuck true to the cause."
"Bah! I despise them. It is the others, the Congress, Lincoln, Gates, Lee, Wayne. They will acquire the honors. Washington will be king."
"And you?"
"I'm going to change my post."
She smiled complacently, and folded her arms.
"Under Washington?"
She knew better, but she made no attempt to conceal her feigned simplicity.
He looked at her without comment.
Whether he shrunk from unfolding to her the sickening details of his despicable plan, or whether he judged it sufficient for her to know only the foul beginnings of his treason without being initiated into its wretched consummation; whether it was due to any of these reasons or simply to plain indifference or perhaps to both, he became unusually silent on this subject from this moment onward. It was enough for her to realize that he had been shabbily treated by the Congress and by the people, that he had long considered the American cause hopeless and had abandoned his interest in it on account of the recent alliance with the government of France. In her eyes he thought it would be heroic for him to resign his command, and even to defect to the side of the enemy on these grounds,—on the strength of steadfastly adhering to his ancient principles. He knew well that she had counseled such a step and was enthusiastic in urging its completion, nevertheless he sensed that the enormity and the depravity of his base design was too revolting, too shocking, for even her ears. He would not even acquaint her with Anderson's letter nor with the purpose he had of concurring with the proposition it contained.
"Did you receive a letter from Anderson?" she asked suddenly.
"Yes. He wrote to inform me that he had escaped in safety and is now in New York."
"No more?"
"No. He did comment on the frustration of the plot, and expressed a desire to learn the identity of the disturber."
"You will tell him?"
"Later. Not now."
There was a pause.
"Do you intend to take active part in the coming campaigns? You know your leg will prevent you from leading a strenuous life in the field. Why not ask for some other post, or retire to private life? I want to get out of this city."
"I am about to write for a new command. I have one friend left in the person of His Excellency, and he will not leave me 'naked to mine enemies,' as the great Wolsey once said."
"But he is to reprimand you," she reminded him.
"No matter. That is his duty. I blame the people and the court which was enslaved to them for my humiliation. They shall pay for it, however."
"Let us leave together. Announce your desire of joining arms with the British and let us set out at once for New York. Mr. Anderson will take care of the details. You know his address?"
"Yes."
"You have fought the war alone; end it alone. Settle your claims with the government and let us sell our house."
"Our house? This is yours, Margaret, and, by God, they shall not deprive you of it. No! We will not sell our house. This is yours for life, and our children's."
"Well, we can rent it for the present. For, if you go, I am going, too."
"Very well. We shall see what the future holds out for us. Give me that stool."
He pointed to the small chair over against her. She arose at once and set it before him. He placed his foot upon it.
"When I think of what I have done for them and then compare their gratitude. Congress must owe me at least six or seven thousand pounds, not to mention my life's blood which never can be replaced. I have been a fool, a fool who does not know his own mind."
"Didn't I predict what the outcome would be? I felt this from the moment Anderson left. And what were you charged with? A technical violation of the code of war. There was no actual guilt nor any evidence in support of the charge. Were the least shadow of a fault in evidence, you may be assured that it would have been readily found. You were innocent of the charge. But you were technically guilty that they might plead excuse for their hate."
"I know it, girl ... I know it ... I see it all now. I tried hard to disbelieve it." He seemed sad, as he muttered his reply and slowly shook his head.
He was still for a moment and then sat suddenly upright.
"But by the living God!" It was surprising how quickly he could pass from mood to mood. Now the old-time fire gleamed in his eyes. Now the unrestrained, impetuous, passionate General, the intrepid, fearless leader of Quebec, Ridgefield, Saratoga, revealed himself with all his old-time energy and determination of purpose.
"By the living God!" he repeated with his hand high in the air, his fist clenched, "They shall pay me double for every humiliation, for every calumny, for every insult I have had to endure. They sought cause against me; they shall find it."
"Hush! My dear," cautioned Peggy, "not so loud. The servants will overhear you."
"The world shall overhear me before another month. Revenge knows no limit and is a sweet consolation to a brave man. I shall shame this profligate Congress, and overwhelm my enemies with no mean accomplishment, but with an achievement worthy of my dignity and power. They shall pay me. Ha! they shall; by God! They shall."
Peggy arose at his violent outbreak, fearing lest she might antagonize him the more. It was useless to talk further, for he was enraged to a point beyond all endurance. She would leave him alone, hoping that he would recover his normal state again.
She walked to the window as if to look out. Then she turned and vanished through the doorway into the hall.