Jack was awake for an hour thinking of the great happiness which had fallen in the midst of his troubles and of Thornhill and his message.  He heard the two aides going to their quarters.  Then a deep silence fell upon the camp, broken only by the rumble of distant thunder in the mountains and the feet of some one pacing up and down between his hut and the house of the General.  He put on his long coat and slippers and went out-of-doors.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

“Arnold,” was the answer.  “Taking a little walk before I turn in.”

There was a weary, pathetic note of trouble in that voice, long remembered by the young man, who immediately returned to his bed.  He knew not that those restless feet of Arnold were walking in the flames of hell.  Had some premonition of what had been going on down the river come up to him?  Could he hear the feet of that horse, now galloping northward through the valleys and over the hills toward him with evil tidings?  No more for this man was the comfort of restful sleep or the joys of home and friendship and affection.  Now the touch of his wife’s hand, the sympathetic look in her eyes and all her babble about the coming marriage were torture to him.  He could not endure it.  Worst of all, he was in a way where there is no turning.  He must go on.  He had begun to know that he was suspected.  The conduct of the scout, Solomon Binkus, had suggested that he knew what was passing.  Arnold had seen the aides of Washington as they came in.  The chief could not be far behind them.  He dreaded to stand before him.  Compared to the torture now beginning for this man, the fate of Bill Scott on Rock Creek in the wilderness, had been a mercy.

Soon after sunrise came a solitary horseman, wearied by long travel, with a message from Colonel Jameson to Arnold.  A man had been captured near Tarrytown with important documents on his person.  He had confessed that he was Adjutant-General Andre of Sir Henry Clinton’s army.  The worst had come to pass.  Now treason! disgrace! the gibbet!

Arnold was sitting at breakfast.  He arose, put the message in his pocket and went out of the room. The Vulture lay down the river awaiting orders.  The traitor walked hurriedly to the boat-landing.  Solomon was there.  It had been his custom when in camp to go down to the landing every morning with his spy-glass and survey the river.  Only one boatman was at the dock.

“Colonel Binkus, will you help this man to take me down to the British ship?” Arnold asked.  “I have an engagement with its commander and am half an hour late.”

Solomon had had much curiosity about that ship.  He wished to see the man who had gone into the bush and then to Smith’s with Arnold.

“Sart’n,” Solomon answered.

They got into a small barge with the General in the cushioned rear seat, his flag in hand.

“Make what speed you can,” said the General.