mpting and choice bits of ware
they might have to offer, she thought she heard the blast of a trumpet
from the direction of the balcony of the old Governor's Mansion.
Attracted by the sound, which recalled to her mind a former occasion
when the news of the battle of Monmouth was brought to the city by
courier and announced to the public, she quickened her steps in the
direction of the venerable building. True, a man was addressing the
people who had congregated beneath the balcony. Straining every faculty
she caught the awful news.

Straightway she sped homewards, running as often as her panting breath
would allow. She did not wait to open the door, but seemed to burst
through it.

"What was that, child?" her father asked quickly as he met her in the
dining-room.

"Arnold ... Arnold ..." she repeated, waiting to catch her breath.

"Has betrayed, you say?"

"West Point."

"My God! We are lost."

He threw his hands heavenwards and started across the floor.

"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."

"This is an act of vengeance," Marjorie reflected. "He never forgot his
court-martial, and evidently sought his country's ruin in revenge.
Adversities he could contend