And now there comes beneath my hand the hard portion of this history, the part which I most mislike and bear with least of patience. It is the record written by the smug, false Doctor Ely to the General, wherein with a particular past bearing, he piled up his charges. There came a dozen counts, and as if it were an ; and in them no slackness, but, instead, an evil confidence of statement plain and clear, as one after another he cast those stones at . Nor shall his communication be set ; I would not so offend against the whiteness of Peg's name, nor yet my own soul's roots by giving a line of it to types and presses. The more, since it was all a web of lies which sly wove for the shallow hand of this Ely; and not enough of truth in it from top to bottom as should serve to make it respectable falsehood. Sufficient that there were stories with Washington and again New York as the theatres, and on these was based a demand that Eaton be dismissed the cabinet and Peg whipped from among women wherever had a name.  
As the General read these things aloud I sat biting my nail in the flaming of my rage.
 
“And now what think you?” said he, when he was done.
 
“I think,” cried I, “that I shall ride at once for the caitiff ears of him.”
 
The General, seeing my anger, turned to be calm. It was a manner of ours that when I was for a rage he would go the other way; I, on my side and by way of , showed never so busy about methods for peace as when the General was for sounding Boots and Saddles. So, me eating my fingers in a sort of blood-eagerness to come at the throat of that Ely, the General would be for craft; and to demand proof; and to go upon a litigation of the business among ourselves.
 
“And now you know,” said the General, with a bitterness in his mouth like aloes, “why I fear preachers and your peace folk. Here is a false tissue against a girl as white as an angel.”
 
“My soul for that!” I interjected.
 
“No one not of the cloth, and saved from men's by his coat and , would so dare. But now this Ely throws these lies in our laps, and we must sit tied.”
 
“Yes,” I cried, “I see your meaning right well, and I would give my left hand at the wrist could any gate be opened through which in honor I might win to the miscreant's heart.” Now the General read the letter to himself; now he knitted his forehead into a and brooded while over against him I sat fury-stung.
 
“Two matters we are to agree on,” said the General at last. “We are not to tell Peg.”
 
“No,” said I.
 
“Nor Eaton.”
 
Now, somehow, I in no fashion, not even the most shadowy, had had Eaton on my slope of thought. It had seemed, in the confusion of into which this charge laid on poor Peg had stirred me, as though there were just three folk in interest for our own side, being the General and Peg and myself. The mention of Eaton struck on me in a strange, way, and was as much an iron in my soul as the of that Ely himself. This came to be no more than a of my wits, however it departed in a blink, and then a feeling somewhat of pleasure succeeded to think Eaton would not be engaged in Peg's defence.
 
“Peg shall not know,” repeated the General, as he who goes over a manouvre in his mind, “Eaton shall not know. You and I will be enough; and Noah; and mayhap Henry Lee, since I think, Major, you are not the man to be trusted with a reply. You—like myself.—would too much, since you own a feeling too deep.”
 
There was sense in what the General advanced; I was in an ill frame for cunning, and to be cool of with any or refutatory letter-writing. I could have nothing that would not run into a challenge with the first line; and, with the pulpit character of the to be our answer, that would have been as so much madness.
 
“Let us” said the General, again taking up the , “examine this precious scorpion's nest in detail, and then we may know best how it should be torn to pieces. This Ely does not make these charges by his own knowledge, but declares how he believes in their truth on the word of some 'extremely honest individual' of this town. This person would be so much the he must needs hide and crawl under cover; for this Ely also says 'who asks his name .'”
 
By this time I had myself in recovery and began to take a part in the thinking.
 
“First, then,” said I, “is there any carried which you, yourself, should contradict?”
 
“There are two,” returned the General. “This Ely has it that my dear wife knew Peg's bad conduct and her for it. That is false; my wife of Peg within a six-month; she loved her like her own child; and, I well recall, she kissed Peg when last we left this place. Then, too, Ely asserts how Timberlake was jealous of Eaton before he sailed for the , hated him as Peg's tempter, and would have him. That, also, I should know to be a lie; for here,” and the General crossed to a shelf and took down a rich Turkish tobacco , “is a tobacco pocket which Timberlake sent to Eaton with a letter asking him to give it me when I arrived; and the letter bore date not ten days before Timberlake died. There remain but two great delinquencies ; the one here and the other in New York; and both are capable of proof for either their truth or falsity.”
 
“And how shall we go about that proof?” I asked.
 
“As a primary step, then, let us have Noah with us.”
 
Noah came, and the General put the Ely letter into his dark, nervous hands.
 
“The gentleman seems marvelously prompt,” said Noah, “to decide a woman's fame away on barest . Doubtless he is a good , but he would make a bad judge.”
 
“This is what you will do, Noah, if you love me,” said the General: “Go to Philadelphia. Squeeze from this Ely the name of that on whose word he starts about this crime against . Then press to New York for the evidence needed to display the falsehood he tells concerning Peg in that place.”
 
When Noah had gone forth, the General called in Henry Lee, who was a secret, truthworthy man, and, while Lee did the pen work, proceeded to beat the Reverend Ely and his lies as folk beat carpets. The General, when it was done, dismissing Lee, read to me his answer; and I could not so much as add one word. It was as complete a retort, and withal as an of this Ely for his own cruel part, as might be compassed with paper and ink. I listened; and I never loved the General half so well before.
 
“And yet,” observed the General, when he had closed the reading and the letter lay ready for the post, “this Ely is but the mask for some who hides behind him.”
 
There was no more to do now, save wait for Noah's return. I had one of the spirit, however; that was when Peg came next day. I so over her in pity, it marked itself in my face and she took some dim account of it. She went away wrong in her hunting for a cause, however.
 
“What has been the mischance?” said Peg, getting up and behind my chair with a soft hand on each of my shoulders. “You've had poor news from your farms?”
 
“A horse dead,” I replied. This was so far true as a word that the letter telling me thereof had but just arrived, and lay open on my table. “Only that a favorite horse has died,” I replied. “But he was one of the General's Truxton colts, and I but loth to lose him.”
 
It was a soon day thereafter, and we yet waiting for word of Noah, when the General re-opened the affair of the Ely letter.
 
“The man Ely,” said he, thoughtfully, “has been practiced upon. The Calhoun interest it was which stirred him to this. He would be clay easily moulded for such a purpose, and peculiarly when the potters employed upon him might promise somewhat for his ambition. As against Eaton and Peg, the fellow would needs lack personal , since he knows them not at all. He might find in his , truly, a part willingness to disturb me, because I broke the heart of his hope for a Florida exaltation. Yet even with that to train his malignancy upon the Eatons, it is clear he must be loaded, primed, and aimed by other hands. Thus do I make the story of it: if Clay be out, as you declare, who is there save Calhoun to put this Ely forward? Then, too, there is the coincidence of method. Ely does there what the Calhoun folk do here.”
 
“Still,” I returned, for I believed in justice though to an enemy, and would not the Vice-President without some open sureness of proof; “still, as Noah explained, these villainies might find act and parcel in Calhoun's interests, and that gentleman be as innocent of personal part as next year's babes.”
 
“Be that as it may,” retorted the General, “a man is responsible for his dogs. Besides, it is too much to believe that Calhoun has no notice of this war on the Eatons.”
 
“Oh, as to that,” I replied, “I think there is doubt. An important movement in his destinies is not to continue for long in the dark, to a keen sight like Calhoun's. However, he might miss details.”
 
“He knows of these tales against Peg,” declared the General firmly, and as though the question were solved and settled. “Also, by lifting his finger he could end them in the mouths that give them words. When one can do a thing and doesn't do it, that is because one doesn't want to do it, but prefers things as they are. And there you have it. In the mean courses against Peg your Vice-President is accessory. By the Eternal!” swore the General , beginning to walk about the floor, “but such makes me to the man! I should hate all that comes from him, whether of policy or plan. For where a source is , the stream will be unclean.”
 
There was now to enter upon the stage one who strongly for Peg's defence. But he better for himself, for at last he took the White House by it; the General in a of kindness for what he did in Peg's pure favor making him his heir of politics and laying the in his hands with the death of his own second term. This personage, to be so much the ally of Peg, and so fortunate for his own future, was none other than that Van Buren who resigned his Governorship and traveled the long way from Albany to become the General's Secretary of State.
 
Heretofore I've made suggestion that the General's knowledge of Van Buren was nothing deep, but only narrow and of a surface sort. More; the truth was that now when the General stood in the midst of this Eaton trouble and saw a long ahead, he was by no sense secure for the coming attitude of his , and went doubt-pricked as to whether or no it would turn to be a friendly one. I could discern some feather of these when one evening over our pipes we dwelt on Marcy and Van Buren, these two being topmost spirits of our party in their state.
 
Marcy was a bold man, and strong with a burly force; as frank and without fear too, as a soldier, and less the hypocrite than any of his day. He had yet to say, from his seat in the Senate, “The politicians of my state wear no masks of superior goodness and make no . They are content to preach what they practice. If they be defeated, they expect to step down and out; if they triumph, they look to enjoy the fruits of their victory. They see no harm in the , 'To the victor belongs the spoil of the enemy.'” Marcy, I say, had not yet uttered these words in the Senate; but they dwelt with him as a sentiment; he had given them expression in Duff Green's paper; and, since the General said nothing in , they were held to declare the feelings of the administration.
 
Before this, I have written somewhere, have I not?—for old age can not hold a memory, nor tell a story step by step, but forever must wander to the this-side-or-that, with topics alien to the task in hand—how I caught some flash of the General's of Van Buren and the pose that gentleman would take on? It fell in this kind. I had asked then a question about Van Buren, and how he compared with his fellow captain, Marcy. The General shook uncertain head.
 
“Van Buren may surprise us,” said he, “and show me wrong besides; but this is what I think. You are to bear in mind, also, that his selection to be at my cabinet right hand was not personal but political. Here is how I hold him.” Now the General spoke with a thoughtful, measured flow of speech, as though his eye were turned to introspection, and he read, as one reads a page of print, his estimate of him whom he sought to weigh. “Van Buren is , , cat-like. He delights in moonlight politics and follows the byways. He avoids the eye, is seldom in the show ring, and, in making his excursions, sticks to the lanes and keeps off the highways. Few men see, and fewer know, Van Buren. He is sly rather than bold; chicanes rather than ; and when attacked he does not fight in that strifish sense of hard knocks. He poisons the springs and streams and standing water; and then he falls back into the hills. Van Buren does with what others do by blows; traps while others hunt. And yet, in a way, he likes trouble. Set out a bowl of milk and a bowl of blood, and turn your back. If sure of unobservation, he will lap the blood. But if you stare at him, he dissembles with the milk, purring with . Ever secret, Van Buren knows of no harder fate than discovery. His points of power are his egotism, his skill for sly effort, his talent as a trader of politics. Marcy is of another sort. Marcy is vigorous where Van Buren is fine. If a band of music were to go by, Marcy would regard the drum as the great instrument. Van Buren would prefer the piccolo. Marcy does his war work with an . When any homicide of politics enforces itself upon Van Buren he moves with sack and bowstring. He waits until midnight, and then, with victim gagged and bagged and bound, drowns him in the Bosphorus of party.”
 
Even as the General spoke, Van Buren was up the street; for it would appear that he had come into town the hour before, and now made speed to pay his respects to the General.
 
While Van Buren was in talk with the General, our first greetings being done, I strove to come by some true account of one who was like to make for much weight in the scales. He was round, short, and by no means superb or . Standing between the General and myself, and both of us above six feet, he seemed something . There was a quiet twinkle in his gray, intelligent eye that he drew from his tavern-keeping sire of Kinderhook; the latter being of shrewd Dutch stock, born to count pennies and to save them, and whose profits with his inn found partial coinage in an education above bottles and taprooms for his son. There an oily peace about Van Buren; it showed on him like painted color. I was not tremendously impressed of him, I grant you; , before all was done, I came to better learn him. The man, for a best , was like so much quicksilver. Bright and of surprising weight, he rolled away from a touch and never failed to fit himself and into every inequality which the surface he rested on presented. He came to be, as you may think, the man for the General; since, while the one was as apt for heat as Sahara, and as much the home of hurricanes, the other under no stress was ever known to give or take offence. He would be without , this Van Buren, and yet no in his armor went about more perfect to his own defence or so equal for the problem of his own security.
 
Van Buren made no stay with us; there was a hand-shake, a talk of a moment, a bow, and he was back to his quarters in the Indian Queen.
 
“And what do you say of him?” asked the General, when now his new secretary was gone.
 
“Why, sir,” I replied, “I should call your story of the man a good one. But he does not look so strong as you would make him.”
 
“Why, then,” returned the General, “neither does any other thing of silk.” Then, after a pause: “Just as an insinuation is stronger than a direct charge, so is Van Buren stronger than other men. I warrant you, as we stand here with all our wisdom, he holds our measures more nearly than we hold his.”
 
The General, you are to observe, and whether early or late, never said a word to Van Buren of Peg and the forays against her fame; the General was too proud for that. The defence of Peg seemed a thing personal to his heart; with him it owned no place in politics or the business of the state. Therefore, he would ask no man's aid, and folk on that quarrel might be neutral or pick their sides and go what ways they would.
 
The General, I say, nothing of politics in the question of his defence of Peg; it was wholly the thing personal. He never realized, what is clear to you and me, that everything was the thing personal with him, and politics a thing most personal of all. Even now, since he had found the Palmetto to be among his enemies, and within short weeks of the birth of his first against Calhoun as one who had sought to do him hidden harm while apeing friendship and aiming at his betrayal with a kiss, he had commenced to nourish a steady wrath against that statesman's policies of Secession and States Rights. This latter he was cultivating and feeding in all possible fashion.
 
One day I came upon him deep within Marshall's definitions of treason as declared in the trial of Aaron Burr.
 
“There's the law for you,” he cried, with a note of in his tone, and thrusting the book at me with one hand while with the other he marked the place; “there's the law of treason so laid down that a man though a fool should not therein. I shall get it pat to my tongue; I may yet teach it to our Secessionists with a gibbet.”
 
I put this down to show the climbing of the General's anger against Calhoun; and how it began to spread and feel about to the Vice-President in his acts and plans and sentiments and hopes. It was, as he said aforetime, “We would foil the villain and save our pretty Peg.”
 
You may rest sure I made no argument against his law studies; indeed, I think treason a crime which the White House can not understand too well nor hate too , and I never thought so more than in those far days when the General read Marshall and we carried forward our fight for lovely Peg.
 
While the General spoke no word of the Eatons and their injuries to Van Buren, the latter for a certainty was not long in town before he thereon held with himself. I would be made wise of this by his coming to me—it was our second encounter—and, with a manner as cream, asking what to my thought would be a time fitting, and to the lady convenient, for him to call upon our Peg.
 
“For you must know,” said he, spreading out his smooth hands and regarding the backs of them, being, I think, a trick of his to cover an inability to look one between the eyes, “for you must know, sir, since my wife died, and with no daughter in my house to teach me, my society learning has gone excessively to seed.”
 
It became my turn to say that society, I was told—for I carried no personal knowledge thereof, having little genius for it—ran now to broken ends and fragments, and would continue so throughout the year. The social season, by word of such experienced as Pigeon-breast, would not begin until New Year's Day.
 
“However,” said I, in finale, “you may take it from me that the Eatons will be to receive you on any evening you should care to call. There need be no formality; you may pull their latch-string at any hour with every assurance of a welcome.”
 
“Can not you take me there this evening?” he asked, with a kind of enthusiasm.
 
“I am only too pleased to be of service.”
 
The fair truth is I could have hugged the little secretary from gladness for Peg.
 
That same night, when later I paid my usual visit to the General for a friendly pipe and to finish the day in smoke before we went to bed, I told him of Van Buren's waiting on Peg. The pleasure the news gave him fell across his face like sunlight. But he carried himself in ordinary fashion.
 
“Why, sir,” said he, “I'm glad that he has been to see the Eatons. Still, no less could have been looked for from a gentleman.”
 
“But he did better,” I said. “Never have I heard more delicate compliment than he offered to Peg. He says she shall preside at his house for those functions which belong with his position.”
 
“And that, since he has no wife, will be a vast convenience for him,” responded the General; “this pouring of his guests' tea by our beautiful Peg.”
 
The General would accept it as a matter of course, but I tell you the tidings of that tea-pouring warmed the cockles of his heart. For myself, I made no effort to hide my satisfaction.
 
“Is it not a strange thing,” said the General, after a bit, “how one's first impression will go astray? Who could be more true, or more wise, or better bred or founded in whatever makes for the best in a man, than our Van Buren? And yet I thought him sly, and with a hand for selfish design. The man's as simple as a child!”
 
“He tells me,” I remarked, “that your friend Hoyt of this region warned him you did not like him, and how your great favorite was Calhoun.”
 
“Hoyt is a fool,” returned the General, hotly. “I would not give Van Buren's finger for Calhoun. Why should he be favorite of mine who treason, and schemes to split the nation like a billet of wood!”
 
Peg was with me betimes next morning to jubilate with dancing pulses over Van Buren to her house the night before.
 
“For can't you see,” she cried, her cheeks red with the excitement that crowed in her breast, “what a strategic point, as you sons of war would term it,”—Peg was laughing here—“is your little, round, smooth Secretary of State? He carries the grand legation folk in his wake. With them, all ribbons and orders, and the army—for the latter will be bound to us since we are the war department—our receptions should be a blaze of glory and gold braid.”
 
Here Peg clapped her hands with the glee of it. It was an inspiration to see her so gay.
 
“I am overcome of delight,” I said, mocking gravity, “to know that we are like to gain so much of ornamentation.” Then, changing my tone: “But of a truth, my little one, I shall forever love our State Secretary for your sweet sake.”
 
“You brought him,” cried Peg. “What a watch-dog you are to me!” This with sudden warmth. “That is the word, a watch-dog—a faithful watch-dog with a great heart guarding its Peg! And you shall have a collar.”
 
With that, since I was sitting in my chair and so within her reach, the minx crept up and threw her arms about my neck. It was simply play—the of a born tomboy. And yet I was glad we were alone and no General about, else I would have lived long ere I had heard the last of it. The situation would have fitted like a glove with the General's of humor, and I should not have cared for his raillery.
 
Peg clung to my neck like a rose to an oak while I tried softly to loosen her arms. I could not make head against her for fear of hurting her.
 
“How do you like your collar, watchdog?” she cried, with a . “And now the buckle—how do you like that?” Here she laid her cheek against my face. “So, watch-dog, you would slip your collar?” This, banteringly. “There; you are free.” And Peg unlocked her arms and stood back smiling, her small, white teeth just showing, and her eyes like diamonds. Then donning a air: “Sir, you call yourself a gentleman and a politician. You should know, then, there be two honors no man may decline; the one is a presidency and the other is a—lady.”
 
With this smartness on her lips Peg broke into downright merriment. The little witch was never so charming!
 
That evening I was sitting alone with the General; each of us silent and within himself, wrapping his own fancies about him like a cloak. I know not on what uplands of the General's thoughts were grazing; for myself, I was on Peg, for I could still feel that soft, warm collar of her two arms clasping my neck.
 
It is trenching on the , too, how the sweet image of a woman will train one's soul for war. No sooner would I take Peg upon the back of my , than they straightway went off to her enemies, and to tire themselves with vain circlings of how best to refute the of her and return upon their wicked heads the most of cruelty. Commonly I might be held as one not beyond touch of mercy, and indeed I have spared a painted when he stood helpless. But I doubt me if Peg's foes, when by some of fate they had fallen within my power, would have found a least loophole of relief. Of a ! I think I might have looked long on their writhings ere my heart was touched or my hands raised to stay their tortures.
 
While I sat in this blood-mood, and shedding in imagination the lives of ones who would our innocent, my glance was caught by the General's pistols lying near by on a table. They were of that long, duelling breed belonging with the times, and the General kept them as bright and new as he kept his honor.
 
“And why are those on parade?” I asked, pointing to the weapons.
 
“It is the day of the year,” said the General, and his steady voice was low, “whereon I killed Dickenson. This is the one I used,” and he stretched his long arm and offered it for my . It had a ribbon of black about the . “That is not for Dickenson,” he explained; “it is for her.” Here he indicated that miniature of his wife from which he would never be parted, where it rested on the mantel and looked down upon us with the painted eyes.
 
“You speak in a queer way,” I said; “do you regret the man?”
 
“No,” he returned, half sadly; “I do not regret killing him.”
 
“Tell me of it,” I urged. “I was not about, and Overton went with you to the field.”
 
The General never named his fight with Dickenson to others, but I was sure he would tell the tale to me. In good truth, I had not asked for it, save that, knowing him far better than I knew myself, I saw what was in his manner to make me believe he would be the after the relation.
 
“Dickenson,” said the General, making no flourish of talk in explanation of a readiness to describe adventures which some folk for the red ending might have shrunk from; “Dickenson was the tool of a made against my life, and politics was at the bottom of it. I was too popular; I was in the way; the grave was a place for me; thus argued my enemies. And then they went about to draw in Dickenson to be their cat's-paw.
 
“Dickenson was young and vain, and withal willingly cruel enough to act as my murderer for the illustration it would bring. He counted himself safe, since he was reckoned the surest, quickest hand in all the world. The man could shoot from the like a flash, and as as one might put one's finger.
 
“Once the plan was laid, Dickenson took a sure course; he spoke evil of my wife.” Here the General picked up the two pistols, a butt in either hand, and looked first upon the one and then upon its fellow. “Following my marriage, with every dollar I owned, I bought these pistols. They are hair-triggers and a breath unhooks them. Also, they are sighted to shoot as fine and as true as the moral law. I gave to their purchase my last dollar, and them to the destruction of what scoundrels should my wife. They have done their work and never failed me.
 
“Overton was to act my second, and we would fight in Kentucky, sixty miles away. All day we traveled; the Dickenson party preceded us over the same trail. At every squatter's cabin the would call us to the wizard work of Dickenson. Here he shot the head from a ; there he cut the string by which a was hanging; now he drove a nail at twenty paces. It was a trick to shake my nerve.
 
“We would fight in the early morning, each standing to a peg twelve paces apart. Overton won the word and the pistols. I was dressed in a black coat, loose and long, and with no white to show at the throat and a bullet. We were given our places, I to my joy with my favorite pistol.
 
“It was conceded by Overton and myself, as we went up and down the business in advance, that Dickenson would kill me. Our hope was that I'd last long enough to kill him—he, the defamer of my wife!
 
“The thought on our side was for me to myself and take Dickenson's fire. I could not rival him for quickness or for sureness. And the haste of an attempt would waste and throw away my aim.
 
“We were put up, I say; the words were to be 'Fire—one—two—three—stop!' We might fire at any moment between 'Fire!' and 'Stop!' And Overton had the word. As I took my place I slipped a bullet into my mouth. I would set my teeth on it to steady my hand.
 
“Overton cried the word and began the count. With the word 'Fire!' Dickenson's weapon flashed. I heard the roar of it, and felt the , dull shock as the lead crashed into my side. But I sustained myself. I was held on my feet by hate. I thought he had slain me, but with him out of hell I would not rest in my grave.
 
“When I did not fall, but stood firm, Dickenson started back.
 
“'My God, I have missed him!' he cried.
 
“'Step to your peg, sir,' roared Overton, pausing in his count and cocking a pistol; 'step to your peg, or I'll blow your head from your body!'
 
“Dickenson stood again to his peg and turned his eyes from me; his face was the color of tobacco ashes.
 
“Overton resumed his count. 'One!' 'Click!'” My pistol caught at half-cock. Overton paused and I re-cocked my pistol; Dickenson white and firm to his peg—a man who had played his life away.
 
“'Two!' cried Overton.
 
“My pistol responded; the lead tore its way through the midst of Dickenson's body. He crippled slowly down on one knee; and then he fell along on his face, and next turned over on his back with a sort of jerk. I never took my eyes from him.”
 
“And your wound,” said I, “was a serious one, I well know that.”
 
“My were broken, while my boot was with the blood which ran down beneath my garments. The bullet I placed between my teeth was crushed as flat as a two-bit piece.”
 
“It was work,” said I, “bearing up and firing on the heels of such a wound.”
 
“Sir, I was thinking on her”—glancing at the miniature. “I should have killed that man though he had put his bullet through my heart.”
 
Here the General turned his face towards me; his eyes were shining with the lambent orange glow one sees in the panther's eyes at night.
 
There was silence, I still looking on the General. His nervous face was twitching. Then the frown on his forehead gave way to quiet sadness. Rising, he stood by the mantel and gazed for long, and tenderly, on the miniature of his dead dear one.
 
“I have had many titles,” said he, and he spoke whisperingly and as though talking with the picture; “I have had many titles, and the greatest was the one 'her husband.' I have had honors;—I stand the chief of the greatest nation in the greatest age the world has witnessed; and I would give all to hold her hand one moment. They say there is a heaven above us. It will be no heaven unless I meet her there.”
 
Now while I was in warmest sympathy with the General, his talk would seem to fill me up with darkness. Also, I could feel the two hot arms of Peg burning my neck. That story, too, of the Dickenson fight may be supposed to have set in my nature that animal which within each of us, somewhat on edge. Abruptly I burst forth:
 
“And it is a surprising thing,” cried I—ripping out an oath, the last not common with me—“how Eaton Peg's wrongs. He should have killed a man or two by now.”
 
“Sir,” returned the General, coming from his reverie with a kind of snap, “sir, no man since Catron has been known to speak a word. Besides, my cabinet men can not go trooping off for Blandensburg at any price. It is one of the drawbacks to a high position of state that it chops one's hands off at the elbow; are no longer a question.”
 
“I do not see it thus,” I retorted viciously. “You do not? Look on Aaron Burr—deserted and old and poor, and dying in New York. He came down from his vice-presidency to one who had him for years. And there is his reward.”
 
“What do I care for that?” cried I. “If it were for Peg, I should leave a throne and perish poor, despised and all alone, but I would strangle the throat that spoke her wrong.”
 
“Ah! if it were Peg!” And the General, now alert and wholly of this world, gave me that narrow intent glance I resented among the flowers.
 
What might have been uttered next was cut short by a messenger on the door. He brought word from Noah; he had just come to town, and since it was turned late he would his call until the morning.
 
“Let's have him with us now,” cried the General, briskly. “I shall not sleep for hours; and you, I take it, will stay awake in such a cause?”
 
“I would stand sleepless guard for weeks if it were to defend Peg,” said I.
 
“Think now and then, my friend, for your own defence.” The General said this with a look both quizzical and grave. Then, without pausing: “Write Noah a note in my name.” While I he walked to and fro. “I must ever ask you to write for me, since I am so unfortunate as to deny a proverb and be one whose sword was ever than his pen.”
 
In the hall I discovered Jim, and told him to depart with our message to the Indian Queen.
 
“'Course I'll nacherally go, Marse Major,” said Jim, “but I was jes' waitin' to see you-all, an' ask how soon you reckons we'll go caperin' back to Tennessee.”
 
“Why,” I demanded, “what has made you so soon homesick?”
 
“It aint that, Marse Major,” and Jim gave to his words a , “but we-all can't stand d'pace yere. For a week Jim was as happy an' chirpy as a drunkard at a barbecue. But since you locks that closet do', Jim's sort o' been obleeged to buy whiskey for himse'f; an' what you think? They charge Jim five cents a drink for whiskey that don't cost two bits a gallon all along d'Cumberland! They's shorely robbers; an' they jes' nacherally takes Jim's money off him so fas' he cotch cold.”
 
“Go on, you rogue!” said I. “Here is a Mexican dollar to your finances. We're not yet bankrupt, Jim.”
 
Noah came to us spattered of travel, and with the high riding-boots he wore on the road. I took a deal of pleasure for a buoyancy I observed in him, since I read it as a sign of whitest promise. Nor was I to be cast down from that hope.
 
“You are to know,” said Noah, turning to the General, “that I was two days before your letter with the Reverend Ely. In the first of our conversations he held his head loftily; in the end, he came something under control. Your letter much dismayed him, and after that his courage ran very thin indeed. Now he quite agrees he knew nothing, and was wrong and false in all he wrote. I dragged him to New York with me. I have Mrs. Eaton's innocence here, in these papers.” Noah laid a sealed package by the General's elbow. They were from the Reverend Ely, as well as from the folk of the hotel wherein that Ely said Peg . “They are oath-made; they prove Mrs. Eaton as snow.”
 
“And how did you make conquest of this Ely?” questioned the General, his eye gratified and spirit a mate for Noah's.
 
“The power of the press, I should call it,” laughed Noah. “The Ely hath a mighty distaste of unfriendly ink. And I'm an editor. That was it,” went on Noah; “I showed him what might be done. He should stand in the of my types for the reasonless defamer he was. Then the dog trembled and came my way with , asking what he should do. I answered much like the with the wild Clovis, 'Bend thy neck, proud Sicambrian; adore what thou hast burned, burn what thou hast adored!' In short, I demanded a letter of retractory to the President; and also that he name his fellow reptile, whose infamous word he claimed for the truth of his .”
 
“And who is he?” demanded the General, as warm as ever I saw him.
 
By some virtue of telepathic sort, I read the answer before Noah uttered it. And why had I not guessed before! The secret one so falsely in the ear of the shallow Ely was none other than the unctious Reverend Campbell.