Mount Pleasant was not permitted to remain idle. It soon was seized by the city authorities and rented to Baron Steuben, the disciplinarian of the American Army and the author of its first Manual of Arms. The household furniture, too, had been removed and offered for sale at public auction, while the coach and four was bought by a trader at the Coffee House. Arnold's presence in the city was now no more than a memory—a memory, indeed, but a sad one.
"He would never escape the fury of that crowd," Mr. Allison observed to his daughter as the two journeyed homewards.
"They would surely put him to death."
"If they ever lay hands on him—they might perhaps cut off his wounded leg, but the rest of him they would burn."
She considered.
"I can scarce believe it—it seems too awful."
"Well! I never could see much good in a bigot. A man with a truly broad and charitable soul has no room in him for base designs. Arnold would crucify us if he could, yet we have lived to see him repudiated by his own."
"It does seem after all that God takes care of His own. Even the sparrow does not fall to the ground."
Plainly the spirit of the evening had awakened a serious vein of thought in the two. They could take no delight in a tragedy so intimately interwoven with pity and compassion. The fate of the two principal actors, the courageous Arnold and the ambitious André, erstwhile known as Anderson, could not fail to touch their hearts. Their lot was not enviable; but it was lamentable.