I saw before I was through that I was touching the proper chord. It was the gossip of the town that Arnold was practically ostracized by the officers of the regular army, and it was equally common talk that this was our traitor’s sorest point. So I was quite prepared to have him approve my course, as he did with his eyes glooming, and the furrows deepening in his brow.
“You did quite right, Captain Page,” he said, “though I doubt not you were too easy with the drunken sergeant. Have you Champe still under lock and key?”
“No,” I admitted; “he was so penitent this morning, and so anxious to get away before the story of his misbehavior should come to your ears, that I let him go to seek a boat in which he could return to his company. He can be disciplined later, if you so direct; though, as a fellow Virginian, I hope you will see how good a soldier he can be on the battle-field before you do it.”
He was looking past me before I had finished, with that absent gaze I was coming to associate with his milder moods, and when I had made an end he waved his hand and said: “You are a merciful man, Captain Page; which is rather to your credit if you do not carry it too far. If Major Simcoe complains to me, I shall know what to say to him.”
Now was my time to vanish, but as I was turning away, he broke in again: “I gave you leave for the forenoon, Captain, but I am tempted to ask you to do me a small personal favor, if you will. Mistress Arnold does not yet know of the delay in our departure, and if you can make it convenient to see her and to say to her that I shall be engaged until after midday—”
I bowed and said I should be only too glad to carry his message, which, for once in a way, was the truth in fact as well as in intention.
Being free to go, I went hastily, and before Major Simcoe could return to catch me in this business of pipe-laying. Not to have Arnold’s errand on my mind, I made it my first care to discharge it quickly. It was Mistress Margaret herself who met me at the door of the Vandeventer house, and it hurt me to see how glad she was at the news I brought; hurt me because if our plans should succeed, the delay would mean nothing but agony and life-long sorrow for her.
I did not go in, though she asked me very kindly if I would, but when I hung upon my leave-taking, she divined the cause and said: “Mistress Beatrix is quite well this morning, thank you, Captain Page, and I know she will be overjoyed to hear that you asked for her.”
It was surely a needed pin-prick, and I responded to it.
“It is truly wonderful, Mistress Margaret, how you are able to read a man’s inmost thoughts, and to set them in the words he is trying to find. Later in the day I trust the general may make me his letter carrier again, and if he does, may I hope—”