he order of his earthly affairs, and he lifted his
hand as though to see if it were still alive. "To-morrow night!" he
thought. "Well, now that the hour has come, I go willingly enough. I
have been permitted to live my life; why should I murmur? There has been
sufficient crowded into my forty-seven years to cover a century. I have
been permitted to play a great part in history, to patch together a
nation out of broken limbs and inform it with a brain. It is right that
I should regard myself in this final hour as a statesman and nothing
more, and that I should go without protest, now that I have no more to
do. I can only be deeply and profoundly thankful that out of three
millions of Americans I was selected, that I have conquered in spite of
all obstacles, and remained until I have nothing more to give. It is
entirely right and fitting that I should die as I have lived, in the
service of this country. Only a sacrifice can bring these distracted
States to reason and eliminate the man most dangerous to their peace. If
I have been chosen for this great part, I should be unworthy indeed if I
rebelled."

XI

Hamilton crossed the river to Weehawken at seven the next morning. He
was accompanied by Pendleton, and his surgeon, Dr. Hosack. It was
already very hot. The river and the woods of the Jersey palisades were
dim under a sultry blue haze. There was a swell on the river, and
Pendleton was very sick. Hamilton held his head with some humour, then
pointed out the great beauty of the Hudson and its high rugged banks,
to distract the unhappy second's mind.

"The majesty of this river," he said, "its suggestion of a vast wild
country almost unknown to the older civilizations, and yet peopled with
the unembodied spirits of a new and mighty race, quicked my unborn
patriotism, unconsciously nourished it until its delivery in Boston."

"It would have curdled mine," said Pendleton. "Who knows--if you had
been of a bilious temperament, the face of our history might wear a pug
nose and a weak chin."

Hamilton laughed. "It never could have done that while Washington's
profile was stamped on the popular fancy. But lesser causes than
seasickness have determined a man's career. Perhaps to my immunity I owe
the fact that I am not a book-worm on St. Croix. If I had even once felt
as you did just now, my dear Pendleton, I should never have set sail for
America."

"Thank God!" said Pendleton. They were beaching. A moment later he and