When the party was over, Dr. Greydon went up to Mollie and taking her by the hands, said:

“Mollie, my child, you looked your best to-night. I felt very proud. Now, you must take your rest. The excitement of this evening has been very hard for you.”

“Very true, papa dear, but can you not let us talk over a few of the events of the evening? That is the best part of an evening affair,—to talk over what people said and what happened,” contended Mollie, when she sat down to rehearse the evening’s events in girlish fashion.

“What a pity it was that the news arrived about General Arnold just in the midst of the gayest part of the evening,” continued Mollie bubbling over with the animation of youth. “What a fine minuet Mr. Barclugh can dance! I was more than delighted! But did you see how pale he became when he heard about General Arnold? And did you see how the Shippens took the news? It was awful! Well, everybody will remember this party from the tragic episodes caused by the Arnold treason!”

“Now, there, there, Mollie, you are too much worked up. You must give yourself rest and repose for we can not tell what the morrow will bring forth in these stirring times,” insisted Dr. Greydon, as he went up to Mollie and took her by both hands and kissed her.

“Yes, Mollie, you must have rest,” reiterated her mother, as Mollie went to her and kissed her good-night.

But no sooner had Mollie departed than very serious matters presented themselves for discussion between Dr. Greydon and his wife about their only daughter.

Dr. Greydon arose and taking his wife by the hand, said in his most tender tones:

“Martha, my dear, we have astounding revelations to discuss, and I wish that you would come into my office and there go over the matter with me.”

“Very well, William,” assented Mrs. Greydon. “I hope that it is not very bad news,” she continued as she took Dr. Greydon’s arm and both went to the office in the south elevation of the quadrangle of buildings.

Dr. Greydon led the way to the office and conducted his wife to a large easy-chair, when he sat down at his desk and began to discuss the important matters on his mind.

“My dear Martha, our Segwuna returned from New York to-night and came to my office. She brought me the news about General Arnold and Major Andre. She also informed me that our Mr. Barclugh has been the secret agent of the British in Philadelphia, and has been in secret communication with General Clinton for the purpose of carrying out Arnold’s plot,—the surrender of West Point to the enemy.”

“What! Mr. Barclugh, the agent of the British!” exclaimed Mrs. Greydon.

“Yes, the agent of the British! He had offered General Arnold twenty thousand pounds sterling and a Brigadier-Generalship in the English army.”

“Oh, what perfidy,” cried Mrs. Greydon. “How does Segwuna know these things?”

“She followed Mr. Barclugh to New York and saw him with Major Andre and General Clinton. She learned much while nursing him during his case of the peste; and finally she went to New York and interviewed Major Andre, who showed his concern at what Segwuna knew of the plot.

“Segwuna brought the news of the failure of the plot to me to-night. I did not mention it because I wished to have the news confirmed and I did not wish to spoil Mollie’s party.

“Now, dear Martha, what shall I do about the affair for Mollie’s sake?”

“I would first be sure that the story of Segwuna is true. If it is true, I have no fears about what Mollie herself would say,” contended Mrs. Greydon in her practical way. “Mollie has not yet consented to marry Mr. Barclugh. She informed me so this morning. She promised Segwuna not to do so until her return.”

“God bless Segwuna!” exclaimed Dr. Greydon. “Our daughter is safe from the disgrace of this affair.”

“My advice, William,” argued Mrs. Greydon, “is to go to Mr. Barclugh and ask him if these statements are true. If he loves our daughter he will tell the truth. If he tells the truth and admits his guilt, on account of our daughter’s love for him we will save him from exposure.”

“But how will our Mollie take this affair? I believe that she loves Mr. Barclugh,” asked Dr. Greydon.

“There can be but one way for Mollie,” insisted her mother. “I will explain all to Mollie in the morning. You can see Segwuna and question her further and then we will have it decided in your office to-morrow morning.”

“You are right, Martha,” concluded Dr. Greydon. “We must not continue this discussion longer to-night,” as he offered his arm to Mrs. Greydon, and conducted her to her apartments and fondly kissed her good-night.

The next morning Segwuna met Dr. Greydon in his office at nine o’clock.

Dr. Greydon questioned the Indian maiden at length about the plot, and she told the story precisely as before.

Mollie, with evidences of severe weeping and intense mental anguish written upon every line of her face, entered her father’s office with her mother. She at once ran to Segwuna and embraced her and said:

“My Segwuna, you did all of this for me. How shall I ever repay you? How sorry I am for Mrs. Arnold. I might now have been placed in a similar position.”

“My dearest Mollie,” began Dr. Greydon tenderly. “How do you feel about Mr. Barclugh’s proposal for my daughter’s hand?”

“Father,” answered Mollie firmly, “I can never love the enemies of my country, especially those who fight her institutions by means of subterfuge and corruption. My love has been shocked. He knew my patriotism and he encouraged it; but he hoped to win me and bind me by the holy ties of marriage. My heart is broken. I can never consent, if he is an enemy.“But, father, do not expose him. It would cost him his life and I know he loves me. Spare his life for my sake.”

These words settled the matter to the evident satisfaction of both Dr. Greydon and Segwuna.

Mollie and her mother left the office for the other part of the house, and the Doctor and Segwuna took the carriage for Philadelphia and Roderick Barclugh’s office.

Dr. Greydon walked into the office of Roderick Barclugh and confronted him when he was busy with his clerk in the outer room.

“Mr. Barclugh,” began Dr. Greydon. “May I see you privately?”

“Certainly,” replied Barclugh, as he led the way to his private office and left Segwuna in the outer room.

“I understand, sir,” said Dr. Greydon, sternly, “that you have been the secret agent of the British in our midst, you, who have asked my daughter for marriage. Now, sir, is that statement true?”

“By what authority do you make those statements, Dr. Greydon?” parried Barclugh.

“I ask you as a gentleman, Mr. Barclugh, who has extended the courtesies of his home to you, to answer a direct question.”

“But you would not ask me to incriminate myself, Dr. Greydon?” replied Barclugh hesitatingly.“No, sir. If you are guilty, for the sake of my daughter’s former love for you, you may leave our country. If you insist on not answering I shall let you be apprehended,” insisted Dr. Greydon.

“But what proofs have you that I am concerned in this affair?” asked Barclugh.

Dr. Greydon stepped to the door and called Segwuna to their presence, as he asked her:

“Segwuna, what proof have you that Mr. Barclugh is concerned in this treason?”

Segwuna took from the inner pocket of her waist and placed in Dr. Greydon’s hands the envelope containing the letter brought to Roderick Barclugh by the Swedish fisherman.

“That is sufficient,” exclaimed Barclugh, “I am the arch-conspirator, Doctor Greydon. I am at your mercy. I have been unjust to ask your daughter in marriage. If you allow me to escape with my life, I shall return to England and teach my countrymen that Americans can not be corrupted. I will do more for the cause of your country than armies or alliances. I owe my life to you and I pledge myself to do a duty that I owe to a true American gentleman. I will try to convince my government of the justice of your cause.”Turning to Segwuna, Barclugh said:

“You saved my life, Segwuna, and you also foiled my plot. The loss of that letter during my illness made us too cautious in dealing with Arnold. We knew that some one had the information and we were fearful of entering the American lines since some one knew our scheme.”

“It was not I,” returned Segwuna, “Mr. Barclugh, that foiled your plot. It was the Great Spirit that laid you low with the peste and put the correspondence into my hands. God hates a corruptionist.”

Barclugh fled at once upon the retirement of Segwuna and Dr. Greydon from his office. He precipitately left on the sloop of the faithful Swedes with all the ready money that he had.

He reached New York and went to General Clinton.

General Clinton withdrew from the Beekman House when the news of the execution of Major Andre reached him. He now lived at Number 1 Broadway, where he could be in constant touch with the stirring affairs of his command since the death of his beloved Andre.

Arnold came to New York and took up his quarters at the King’s Arms Tavern, Number 9 Broadway. Here he lived and entertained the belief that the British cause was invincible. He began plans to bring success to the royal arms.

He prepared and issued an address, “To the Inhabitants of America,” a long and labored article justifying his treachery. Then, a few days thereafter, he issued a proclamation entitled, “To the officers and soldiers of the Continental army who have the real interests of their country at heart and who are determined to be no longer the dupes of Congress or of France.” It was simply an offer of bribery to the Americans to desert their cause; but there were no responses. A few loyalists rallied around his standard,—those who were seeking officers’ positions in the British army. His mercenary spirit was expressed in this appeal.

In the midst of these circumstances, Roderick Barclugh arrived from Philadelphia. His first sight when he walked into the King’s Arms Tavern was that of General Arnold pacing up and down before the fireplace in the tap-room.

Arnold looked up and beheld with astonishment the tall and athletic form of Barclugh. Until now Arnold never had quaked before mortal man; but when the piercing glance of Barclugh met his gaze, a culprit shivering like a whipped dog was all that stood before Barclugh.

Had the spirit of Washington appeared in his path, Arnold could not have been more abject. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. His eyes lost all power of vision and rolled nervously, as though hunted, in their sockets. Pitiable, indeed, in his moral transgression, stood the man once the pride of the patriot army, before one whose only claim to distinction was the gold that he could control.

Barclugh was amazed at Arnold’s collapse. He felt guilty and powerless, himself. The love of Mollie Greydon had saved his life; he knew that his gold could never have done so. Yet Barclugh felt that he must not relinquish his power over the traitor, so he addressed him harshly:

“You have ruined us all, Arnold. I am thankful to be here alive. The stain of Andre’s blood will always remain upon your escutcheon.”

The traitor, nervous and guilty, looked around the tap-room, and whispered into Barclugh’s ear:

“We better discuss our matters more privately.”

Arnold now led the way to his chamber and there the two faced each other.

Arnold began anxiously:

“Barclugh, have you heard of my wife and child?”

“No news, Arnold,” replied the financier.“Well, what is to become of her? I am dying by inches from anxiety. I would be willing to give up all for her safety,” wailed the traitor.

“Cheer up, don’t whine about losses from your unfulfilled contract,” continued Barclugh.

“What! do I not even get my money?” exclaimed Arnold.

“Not a farthing more, if I can help it,” retorted the moneyed man.

“How do you make that out?” asked the General.

“Well, it’s business.”

“What’s business to do with an affair of honor?”

“An affair of honor?” queried Barclugh. “You left your honor behind when you accepted money and agreed to perform your treachery and receive the balance when the job was successfully done.”

“But you see, Barclugh, I have the agreement of Major Andre to cover just such an emergency as this,” exclaimed Arnold as he struck with exultation his breast pocket in which he had his writing signed by Andre.

“Well, that may or may not be so, Mr. Arnold. You will now have to settle your bargain made with Major Andre, with General Clinton. Major Andre is dead. I represent the men of substance and I am not at liberty to recklessly squander their money in a way that is not warranted,” contended the envoy of the Bank Governor.

“Very well, sir,” concluded Arnold, who was now aware of the cold blood of a financial agent when the deal fell through. “We shall go to General Clinton and have this matter settled. I demand that you go with me. If I am not given satisfaction for the sacrifices that I have undergone, I will publish my agreement made with Andre. The world will call you a pack of scoundrels, to deceive an honest man.”

“Scoundrels!” exclaimed Barclugh. “You better ask what your friends will say as to that.”

Arnold and Barclugh walked to the headquarters of General Clinton, Number 1 Broadway. A few steps took the two up the staircase to the front entrance and then they were ushered into the presence of the English Commander.

None of the three men was in a humor to talk very much, especially Barclugh. After an exchange of formal greetings, General Arnold commenced the discussion:

“General Clinton, I must know where I stand in my financial matters and in my official position before Mr. Barclugh leaves.

“Of course, you know I promised to turn over West Point to your command and my compensation was to have been twenty thousand pounds sterling and a commission as Brigadier-General in the British army, but the fortunes of war have turned against us. I am here under your protection with nothing to insure my recompense except my compact with Major Andre.

“General Clinton, shall I receive the recompense due me or shall I be treated with ingratitude such as I have received from the Colonial Congress?”

“General Arnold,” replied Sir Henry Clinton, “His Majesty’s government certainly shall not dishonor its obligations, but we cannot be asked to pay the full amount that was promised when the transaction was entered into. For those conditions depended upon the success of your enterprise. We shall have to limit the payment to ten thousand pounds sterling, less what has been advanced to you by Mr. Barclugh. Mr. Barclugh has already advanced you about four thousand pounds, so that your balance will be about six thousand pounds sterling.

“You will receive a commission of Brvt. Brig. General and its regular pay.

“But, General Arnold, do you believe that we can win our cause now that we have failed in our enterprise against West Point?”

“There can be no question in my mind,” returned Arnold, now that he had been assured of his allowance and his commission. “We can raise a force and take West Point by regular attacks. I shall prepare plans and submit them to you for approval.

“Then,” continued Arnold, “the Colonies can not hold out against the resources of Great Britain. We must fight until the tide of victory turns our way. We cannot afford to lose. We must win.”

“What do you think about the situation, Mr. Barclugh?” asked General Clinton, turning to the special agent of His Majesty’s government, graciously.

Barclugh drew himself up to his full height and said bitterly, for he felt that both of the men before him had made a mess of his plans:

“Gentlemen, if you want my candid opinion, I am forced to say that you will not conquer the American Colonists if you fight from now until doomsday. They are simple, fearless people, liberty-loving and self-sacrificing. They have no need of money. They live next to nature and fight and exist wholly within their own resources.

“My mission to the Colonies has been made utterly unsuccessful since our plot failed. One cannot understand the temper of the people until he has lived among them as I have. The mothers and maidens, as well as the men, are fighting for their land. There may be a few malcontents among them, like our new friend here (pointing over his shoulder with his thumb toward Arnold), but they are only loud talkers and boasters, and carry no weight.”

Arnold scowled at Barclugh, and General Clinton’s ire began to gather force when the color mounted into his thick neck and his wine-flushed face, as he exclaimed:

“What! do you mean to tell me, sir, that His Majesty’s armies can never conquer the Colonies? Impossible! Sir, impossible!”

“That’s what I mean,” responded Barclugh coolly.

“Do you mean to imply, sir, that the forces under the command of General and Sir Henry Clinton, K. B., are not able to carry out the King’s commands?” demanded General Clinton.

“I mean,” replied Barclugh dryly, “that both General and Sir Henry Clinton, K. B., are very much deluded personages as to the task before them.”

General Clinton now turned and bowed to Roderick Barclugh and, with lips firmly compressed, said:

“Mr. Barclugh, I have done with your information. I thank you.”

Then Sir Henry remarked as he took Arnold’s arm in his own:

“General Arnold, we better retire.”

The two generals, in oppressive silence, now turned their backs on Barclugh and stalked out of the room.

Barclugh stood and watched their departure. He dropped his head in silent reflection. Raising his eyes, the pent-up fire of an indignant soul shone out of them. He said:

“Let them go! The hirelings of kingly power as I have been! They plan to flatter the King and consider as a reward only the gold that they receive.

“It is well that kings have gold for their use. For the bones that they throw to their dogs would soon play out, unless the dry bones that are rattled scare the whelps.

“My mission has failed! Why? The Americans are superior to the system that makes hirelings of us all. No system of finance affects them. They refused my gold. Mutual trust in each other, as men, made their pieces of commissary paper as useful as my gold. Of all the men that I met, Arnold was the only one that I could convince with an Englishman’s argument, pounds sterling. American manhood is a product of American soil. It has grown out of the forests and the streams. It is incorruptible. If its ideals are lost in the greed for gold, the debased have to flee America and seek an asylum, like Arnold, in the bosom of the Englishman where pounds sterling can outweigh character and manhood.

“I return to England. I give them back their accursed gold, and show them that though Englishmen may think like Warren Hastings, that the souls of men are expressed in pounds sterling according to their stations, yet in one place in this world manhood stands above guineas, and AMERICAN MANHOOD HAS NOT ITS PRICE!”