a year. Two days ago he turned into a muddy lane and splashed
himself to his waist, that he might avoid meeting me."

His first impulse was to excuse himself, on the plea of the pressing
nature of his work; but curiosity triumphed, and he told his page to
admit the men.

Muhlenberg was again Speaker of the House; Venable was a Representative
from Virginia. Hamilton was not friendly with either, but nodded when
they passed him. He greeted them amiably as they entered to-day, and
exchanged a frigid bow with Monroe. The Senator from Virginia took a
chair in the rear of the others, stretched his long legs in front of
him, and folded his arms defiantly. He looked not unlike a greyhound,
his preference for drab clothing enhancing the general effect of a
pointed and narrow leanness.

There was a moment of extreme awkwardness. Muhlenberg and Venable
hitched their chairs about. Monroe grinned spasmodically, and rubbed his
nose with his upper lip.

"Well, gentlemen," said Hamilton, rapping his fingers on the table.
"What can I do for you?" He scented gun-powder at once.

"I am to be the spokesman in this delicate matter, I believe," said
Muhlenberg, who looked red and miserable, "and I will, with your
permission, proceed to my unpleasant task with as little delay as
possible."

"Pray do," replied Hamilton. "The daily assaults of my enemies for
several years have endowed me with a fortitude which doubtless will
carry me through this interview in a creditable manner."

"I assure you, sir, that I do not come as an enemy, but as a friend. It
is owing to my appeal that the matter was not laid directly before the
President."

"The President?" Hamilton half rose, then seated himself again. His eyes
were glittering dangerously. Muhlenberg blundered on, his own gaze
roving. The Federal term of endearment for Hamilton, "The Little Lion,"
clanged suddenly in his mind, a warning bell.

"I regret to say that we have discovered an improper connection between
yourself and one Reynolds." He produced a bundle of letters and handed
them to Hamilton. "These are not in your handwriting, sir, but I am
informed that you wrote them."

Hamilton glanced at them hastily, and the angry blood raced through his
arteries.

"These letters were written by me," he said. "I disguised my handwriting
for purposes of my own. What is the meaning of this unwarrantable
intrusion into a man's private affairs? Explain yourself at once."

"That is what we