“You are frank.  I have indeed letters from you, written in this room”—­There was upon the table an orderly litter of books and papers.  From a packet of the latter Jefferson drew a letter, unfolded it, and, stretching out his long arm, laid it on the table before his visitor.  “There is one,” he said, “written not three years ago, on the evening of the day when you were elected to the General Assembly.  I shall ask you to do me the favour to read it through.”

Rand took the letter and ran his dark eye down the sheets.  As he read, the blood stained his cheek, brow, and throat, and presently, with a violent movement, he rose and, crossing the room to a window, stood there with his face to the night.  The clock had ticked three minutes before he turned and, coming back to the table, dropped the letter upon its polished surface.  “You have your revenge,” he said.  “Yes, I was like that—­and less than three years ago.  I remember that night very well, and had a spirit whispered to me then that this night would come, I would have told the spirit that he lied!  And it has come.  Let us pass to the next count in the indictment.”

“The Albemarle Resolutions—­”

“I carried them.”

“I wished them carried, but I should rather have seen them lost than that in your speech—­a speech that resounded far and wide—­you should have put the face you did upon matters!  You knew my sentiments and convictions; until I read that speech, I thought they were your own.  The Albemarle Resolutions!  I have heard it said that your zeal for the Albemarle Resolutions was largely fanned by the fact that your personal enemy was chief among your opponents!”

“May I ask who said that?”

“You may ask, but I shall not answer.  We are now at late February.”

“The Assembly adjourned.  I returned to Albemarle.”

“You took first a journey to Philadelphia.”

“Yes.  Is there treason in that?”

“That,” said Jefferson, with calmness, “is a word not yet of my using.”

Rand leaned forward.  “Yet?” he repeated, with emphasis.

There fell a silence in the room.  After a moment of sitting quietly, his hands held lightly on the arm of his chair, Mr. Jefferson rose and began to pace the floor.  The action was unusual; in all personal intercourse his command of himself was remarkable.  An inveterate cheerful composure, a still sunniness, a readiness to settle all jars of the universe in an extremely short time and without stirring from his chair, were characteristics with which Rand was too familiar not to feel a frowning wonder at the pacing figure and the troubled footfall.  He was a man bold to hardihood, and well assured of a covered trail, so assured that his brain rejected with vehemence the thought that darted through it.  To Mr. Jefferson the word that he had audaciously used could have no significance.  Treason!  Traitor!  Aaron Burr and his Jack-o’-Lantern ambitions, indeed,