Weariness overcame Barclugh, and he slept soundly until he heard a knock on his door.
Starting up with a dazed memory, he arose and found Mr. Hopewell at the door, who informed him that General Arnold was in the outside office, waiting to see him by appointment.
“Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Very well! I’ll see General Arnold in a very few minutes,” said Barclugh, reflecting for an instant.
Barclugh hurriedly washed and dressed and as he passed through the accounting room, he quietly said to his clerk:
“You may go now, Mr. Hopewell.”
When the door opened upon General Arnold he arose nervously, and, as he beheld Barclugh with his arm in a sling, he rushed forward and seized Barclugh’s right hand in both of his, exclaiming:
“Why, how do you do, Mr. Barclugh? I hope that you are not seriously injured? What,—what hurt you?”
“This is nothing serious,” replied Barclugh, as he languidly took a seat. His wan and weather-beaten face had placed ten years upon his shoulders.
The two conspirators sat down and for an instant each gazed at the other to learn if there were any sign of the white feather. To the steady gaze of Barclugh’s steely blue eyes, Arnold returned their inquisitive glance with a set jaw and a determined look that could not be mistaken for backsliding.
“How have you made out?” inquired Arnold hesitatingly.