for his life. Hamilton, hearing a horse coming up the
turnpike at runaway pace, glanced out of the window to see what neck was
in danger, then flung his quill to the floor and bolted. He was out of
the house before the orderly had dismounted, and secured possession of
the note. When he had returned to his office, which was in a log
extension at the back of the building, he locked the door and read what
he could of Miss Schuyler's illegible chirography. That it was a command
to wait upon her at once he managed to decipher, but no more at the
moment; and feeling as if the heavens had opened, he despatched a hasty
note, telling her that he could not leave his work before night, when he
would hasten with the pent-up assurances of a love which had been his
torment and delight for many weeks. And then he answered a summons to
Washington's office, and discussed a letter to the Congress as if there
were no such person in the world as Elizabeth Schuyler, as indeed for
the hour there was not, nor for the rest of the afternoon.

But at eight o'clock he presented himself at the Cochraine quarters, and
Miss Schuyler was alone in the drawing-room. It was some time before
they arrived at the question which had weighed so heavily on Hamilton's
mind. When, however, they came down to conversation, Miss Schuyler
remarked:--

"I am sure that it will make no difference with my dear father, who is
the most just and sensible of men. I had never thought of your parentage
at all. I should have said you had leapt down from the abode of the
gods, for you are much too remarkable to have been merely born. But if
he should object--why, we'll run away."

Her eyes danced at the prospect, and Hamilton, who had vowed that
nothing should induce him to enter a family where he was not welcome,
was by now so hopelessly in love that he was ready to order the chaise
and four at once. He remained until Mrs. Cochraine sent him home, then
walked up the hill toward Headquarters, keeping to the road by instinct,
for he was deep in a reverie on the happiness of the past hours. His
dreams were cruelly shattered by the pressure of a bayonet against his
breast.

"What?" he demanded. "Oh, the countersign." He racked his memory. It had
fled, terrified, from his brain under the rush of that evening's
emotions.

"I can't remember it," he said haughtily; "but you know who I am. Let me
pass." The sentry stood like a fate.

"This is ridiculous!" cried Hamilton, angri