“I am at your disposal, sir, for so long. What is it?”
I hesitated, and, I suspect, showed plainly in my face my doubt as to
the propriety of what was most on my mind when I sought this interview.
He instantly guessed that I was embarrassed, and said, with the gentlest
manner and a slight smile:
“Ah, Mr. Wynne, there is nothing which can be done to save your friend,
nor indeed to alter his fate; but if you desire to say more do not
hesitate. You have suffered much for the cause which is dear to us both.
Go on, sir.”
Thus encouraged, I said, “If on any pretext the execution can be delayed
a week, I am ready to go with a friend”--I counted on Jack--“to enter
New York in disguise, and to bring out General Arnold. I have been his
aide, I know all his habits, and I am confident that we shall succeed
if only I can control near New York a detachment of tried men. I have
thought over my plan, and am willing to risk my life upon it.”
“You propose a gallant venture, sir, but it would be certain to fail;
the service would lose another brave man, and I should seem to have been
wanting in decision for no just or assignable cause.”
I was profoundly disappointed; and in the grief of my failure I forgot
for a moment the august presence--which imposed on all men the respect
which no sovereign could have inspired.
“My God! sir,” I exclaimed, “and this traitor must live unpunished, and
a man who did but what he believed to be his duty must suffer a death
of shame!” Then, half scared, I looked up, feeling that I had said too
much. He had risen before I spoke, meaning, no doubt, to bring my visit
to an end, and was standing with his back to the fire, his admirable
figure giving the impression of greater height than was really his.
When, after my passionate speech, I looked up, having of course also
risen, his face wore a look that was more solemn than any face of man I
have ever yet seen in all my length of years.
“There is a God, Mr. Wynne,” he said, “who punishes the traitor. Let us
leave this man to the shame which every year must bring. Your scheme
I cannot consider. I have no wish to conceal from you or from any
gentleman what it has cost me to do that which, as God lives, I believe
to be right. You, sir, have done your duty to your friend. And now may I
ask of you not to prolong a too painful interview?”
I bowed, saying, “I cannot thank your Excellency too much for the
kindness with which you have listened to a rash young man.”
“You have said nothing, sir, which does not do you honour. Make my
humble compliments to Mistress Wynne.”
I bowed, and, backing a pace or two, was about to leave, when he said,
“Permit me to detain you a moment. Ask Mr. Harrison--the secretary--to
come to me.”