"What is it, Marjorie?" asked the mother, who now stood in the passageway, a corner of her apron held in both hands, a look of wonder and suspicion full upon her.
"No, Father!" the girl replied, apparently heedless of her mother's presence, "West Point is saved. Arnold has gone."
"Let him go. But West Point is still ours? Thank God! He is with the British, I suppose?"
"So they say. The plot was discovered in the nick of time. His accomplice was captured and the papers found upon him."
"When did this happen?"
"Only a few days ago. The courier was dispatched at once to the members of Congress. The message was delivered today."
"And General Arnold tried to sell West Point to the British?" commented Mrs. Allison, who had listened as long as possible to the disconnected story. "A scoundrel of a man."
"Three Americans arrested a suspicious man in the neighborhood of Tarrytown. Upon searching him they discovered some papers in the handwriting of Arnold containing descriptions of the fortress. They took him for a spy."
"I thought as much," said Mrs. Allison. "Didn't I tell you that Arnold would do something like that? I knew it. I knew it."
"Thank God he is not one of us," was Mr. Allison's grave reply. "His act would only serve to fan into fury the dormant flames of Pope Day."