"Your country!" she taunted. "What has your country done for you? The empty honors you have gained were wrung from her. The battle scars you bear with you were treated with ingratitude. You were deprived of your due honors of command. Even now you are attacked and hounded from every angle. Your country! Pooh! A scornful mistress!"
She sat down and folded her arms, looking fiercely into the dark.
It is strange how human nature could be touched by so small affairs. The war of continents meant very little to her imagination. Certainly the parallel was not perfect; but it seemed to her to fit.
He looked around slowly.
"You took me for what I am," he said to her. "I gave you prestige, wealth, happiness. But I have promised my life to my country if she requires it and I shall never withdraw that promise while I live. Better the grave of the meanest citizen than the mausoleum of a traitor."
"But think of your country!" insisted Anderson.
"Anderson," was the reply, "I know the needs of the country and I know deeply my own grievances. Suppose I yield to your suggestions and Britain fails,"—he paused as if to measure the consequences. "I shall be doomed. I shall be called a bigot. My children will hate me."
He seemed to waver. His earlier enthusiasm apparently diminished before their attack.
"But," continued Anderson, "with your aid Britain cannot fail. And remember how England rewards those who render her great and signal services. Look at the majestic column at Blenheim Palace reared to the memory of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. Contrast with it what Peggy has just said, the ingratitude, the injustice, the meanness, with which Congress has treated you."
"Must the end justify the means?" he mused. "Can you continue to urge me to duplicate the treachery of Churchill, who can never be forgiven for his treason? Whatever else he may have achieved, you must remember he was first and last a traitor."