Dennis and the two men whom he had brought with him dismounted, and sat down under the cedars, through which the moon shone.
“I was led here through the suggestion of a bad example. We are led by the imagination. Imagination follows suggestion. Benedict Arnold went over to the cause of the King, and he is a power now. I once served under Arnold. It was in the northern campaign. I will acknowledge all. I am seeking to do him a service—to find out where your powder magazines are stored. Arnold will soon be thundering off this coast!”
Dennis started.
“What! in Connecticut?”
“Yes, in Connecticut.”
“Among his own kin?”
“Among his own kin.”
“Black must be the heart of a man that would fall upon his own neighborhood. Such a heart must be born wrong. They say that he liked to torture animals when he was a boy. Man, what do you know? Remember the fate of André.”
The man suddenly recollected it. He began to shake, for with the rising of the moon and the clearing of the air it was cool.
“I know not where I am,” said he. “Everything is strange. But let me talk to you in confidence.