No prayer the women could make served to sway Lee from his purpose, and without delay the prisoner was mounted behind one of the escort, taken to Brunswick, and handed over to the authorities. When Mrs. Meredith and Janice, who followed on foot, reached the town, it was to find that the squire was to be carried to Trenton the next morning. A plea was made that they should be permitted to accompany him, but it was refused, and a bargain was finally made with the publican to carry them.

The following evening saw them all in Trenton, Mr. Meredith in jail, and the ladies once more at the Drinkers’. It was too late for anything to be attempted that night; but early the next day Mrs. Meredith, with Mr. Drinker, called on Governor Livingston to plead for mercy.

“Had he come in and delivered himself up, there might have been some excuse for special lenience,” the Governor argued; “but captured as he was, there can be none. The people have suffered so horribly in the last two years that they wish a striking example made of some prominent Tory, and will not brook a reasonless pardon. He must stand his trial under the statute and proclamation, and of that there can be but one outcome.”

When the suppliants returned with this gloomy prediction, Janice, who held herself accountable for the calamity, primarily by having secured the appointment of her father, and still more by drawing the caricature which had brought such disaster, was so overcome that for a time the mother’s anxieties were transferred to her. Realising this, after the first wild outburst of grief and horror were over, Janice struggled desperately to regain self-control; and when the two had gone to bed, she successfully resisted her longing to give way once more to tears, though no sleep came to her the night through. Yet, if she brought pale cheeks and tired eyes to the breakfast table, there was determination rather than despair in her face and manner, as if in her long vigil she had thought out some deliverance.

In what this consisted was shown by her whispered request to Mr. Drinker, the moment the meal had been despatched, to learn for her if Joe Bagby was in town, and to arrange for an interview. Within the hour her emissary returned with the member of Assembly.

“I suppose you have heard, Mr. Bagby, of my father’s capture,” she said, without even the preliminary of a greeting.

“Yes, miss,” said Bagby, awkwardly and shamefacedly; “’t is news that did n’t stop travelling, and ’t was all over Trenton before he’d been an hour in town. One way or another, he and I have n’t got on well, but I did n’t wish him or you any such bad luck, and I’m real sorry it ’s come about.”

“I wished to see you to ask—to beg,” went on the girl, “that you would persuade the Governor to set him free.”

“But he’d not have the right to do that,” replied Joe. “He only can pardon the squire after the trial. And right now I want to say that if you have n’t settled on any lawyer, I will take the case and do my best for your dad, and let you take your own time as to paying me.”

“Oh, Mr. Bagby,” pleaded Janice, “Mr. Drinker is sure that he will be convicted of treason. Can you not do something to stop it?”

“I am afraid he is right, miss. About his only chance will be for the Governor to pardon him.”

“But only yesterday he said he should not,” wailed Janice. “Can you not persuade him?”

“Guess ’t would be only be a waste of my time,” answered Joe. “He and I have disagreed over some appointments, and we are n’t much of friends in consequence. But aside from that, he’s a great trimmer for popularity, and the people just now are desperate set on having the Tories punished.”

“Don’t say that,” besought the girl. “Surely, if—if— if I promise to marry you, cannot you save him?”

“If ’t was a bridge to be built, or a contract for uniforms, or something of that sort, I’d have real influence in the Assembly; but I am afraid I can’t fix this matter. The Governor’s a consarned obstinate man most times, and I don’t believe he’ll listen to any one in this. What I can do, though, if you’ll just do what you offered, miss, will be to save your property from all risk of being taken from you.”

“Don’t speak of it to me,” cried Janice, wildly. “Do you think we could care for such a thing now?”

“Property ’s property,” said Joe, “and ’t is n’t a good thing to forget, no matter what happens. However, that can wait. Now, about my being your lawyer?”

“I will speak to my mother,” replied the girl, sadly, “and let you know her wishes.” And the words were so evidently a dismissal that Bagby took his departure.

Without pausing to mourn over the failure, Janice procured paper and pen, and set about a letter; but it was long in the writing, for again and again the pages were torn up. Finally, in desperation, she let her quill run on, regardless of form, grammar, erasures, or the blurs caused by her own tears, until three sheets had been filled with incoherent prayers and promises. “If only you can save him,” one read, “nothing you ask of me, even to disobeying him, even to running off with you, will I refuse. I will be your very slave.” If ever a proud girl humbled herself, Janice did so in this appeal.

The reading of the missive was begun the next day by an officer seated in the “public” of the City Tavern of Philadelphia, but after a very few lines he rose and carried it to his own room, and there completed it. Then folding it up, he thrust it into his pocket, once more descended the stairs, and inquired of the tavern-keeper: “’T was reported that General Lee came to town yesterday; dost know where he lodges?”

“I hearn he was at the Indian King.”

“Thanks,” responded the questioner, and then asked: “One thing more. Hast a stout riding-whip you can lend me for a few minutes?”

“Ay, Colonel Brereton. Take any that suits you from the rack.”

The implement secured, the officer set out down the street, with a look that boded ill for somebody.

Five minutes later, with one hand held behind his back, he stood in the doorway of the public room of another ordinary, arriving just in time to hear a man proclaim in stentorian tones:—

“I tell ye, any other general in the world than General Howe would have beat General Washington; and any other general in the world than General Washington would have beat General Howe.”

“Hush!” said a man. “Here is one of his aides.”

"Think ye I care?” roared Lee. “Colonel Brereton and all others of his staff know too well the truth of what I say to dare resent it. The more that hear me, the better.”

Brereton strode forward to within three feet of Lee. “You owe your immunity,” he said, struggling to speak quietly, “to the very man you are abusing, for not one of his family but would have challenged you after your insulting letters to him, had not General Washington commanded us all to refrain, lest, if any of his staff called you out, it should seem like his personal persecution. Your conduct to him was outrage enough to make me wish to kill you, but now you have given me a stronger reason, and this time there is no high-minded man to save you from my vengeance, you cur!” There was a quick motion of Jack’s arm, a swishing sound, and the whip was furiously lashed full across the general’s face.

Lee, white with rage, save where a broad red welt stretched from ear to chin, staggered to his feet, pulling at his sword as he rose, but his three companions united to restrain him.

“Take your satisfaction like a gentleman, sir,” insisted one, “and not like a tavern broiler.”

“I shall see Major Franks within the hour,” remarked Brereton, “and have no doubt he will represent me. But if you wish a meeting, you must act promptly, for I shall not remain in the city later than noon to-morrow.”

It was just after dawn the next morning that five horsemen turned off from the Frankford road into a meadow, and struck across it to a piece of timber on the other side. One of them was left with the horses, and the remainder took their way to an open spot, where the trees had been felled. Here the four paired off; and the couples held a brief consultation.

“I care not what the terms be,” Brereton ended, “so long as you secure the privilege of advancing, for one of us goes not off the field unhurt.”

The seconds held a conference, and then separated. Each gave his principal a pistol, and stationed him so that they stood some twenty paces apart.

“Gentlemen, with your weapons pointed groundward, on the word, you will walk toward each other, and fire when it pleases you,” ordered Major Edwards. “Are you ready? Go!”

The duellists, with their pistol hands dropped, walked steadily forward, one, two, three, four, five strides.

“’T is murder, not satisfaction, they seek!” ejaculated Franks, below his breath.

Another and yet another step each took, until there was not twenty feet between the two; then Lee halted and coolly raised his arm; one more step Brereton took as he did so, and not pausing to steady his body, his pistol was swung upward so quickly that it flashed first. Lee’s went off a second later, and both men stood facing each other, the smoking barrels dropped, and each striving to see through the smoke of his own discharge. Thus they remained for a moment, then Lee dropped his weapon, staggered, and with the words, “I am hit,” went on one knee, and then sank to the ground.

Brereton walked back to his original position, and stood calmly waiting the report of his second, who, with Edwards, rushed to the wounded man’s assistance.

“He is struck in the groin,” Franks presently informed him; “and while not dangerous, ’t will be a month before he’s good for anything.”

“You mean good for nothing,” replied Jack. “I meant to make it worse, but must rest content. As I told you, I ride north without delay, so will not even return to the city. Thank you, David, for helping me, and good-by.”

Five hours later, Lee was lying in the Pennsylvania hospital, and Brereton was riding into Trenton. Without the loss of a moment, the aide sought an interview with the Governor, clearly with unsatisfactory results; for when he left that official his face was anxious, and not even tarrying to give his mare rest, he mounted and spurred northward, spending the whole night in the saddle. Pausing at Newark only to breakfast, he secured a fresh horse, and reached Fredericksburg a little before nightfall. Seeking out the commander-in-chief, he delivered certain papers he carried; but before the general could open them, he said:—

“Your Excellency, I wish speech with you on a matter of life and death. To no other man in the world would I show this letter, but I beg of you to read it, sir, and do what you can for my sake and for theirs.”

Washington took the sheets held out to him and slowly read them from beginning to end. “’T is a sad tale the poor girl tells,” he said when he had finished; “but, my boy, however much I may pity and wish to aid them, my duty to the cause to which I have dedicated my life—”

“Ah, your Excellency,” burst out Jack, “in just this one instance ’t will surely not matter. A word from you to Governor Livingston—”

Washington shook his head. “I have ever refrained from interfering in the civil line,” he said, “and one breaking of the rule would destroy the fabric I have reared with so much pains. If I have gained influence with the people, with the army, and with the State officials, it is because I have ever refused to allow personal considerations to shape my conduct; and that reputation it is my duty to maintain at all hazards, that what I advise and urge shall never be open to the slightest suspicion of any other motive than that of the public good. It is a necessity which has caused me pain in the past, and which grieves me at this moment, but I hold a trust. Do not make its performance harder than it need be.”

“Do I not deserve something at your hands, sir? Faithfully I have served you to my uttermost ability.”

“You ask what cannot be granted, Brereton; and from this refusal I must not recede. Now leave me, my boy, to read the despatches you have brought.”

There was that in the general’s manner which made impossible further entreaty, and the aide obeyed his behest. Yet such was the depth of his concern that he made a second appeal, two days later, when he brought a bunch of circular letters to the State governors, concerning quotas of provisions, which he had written, to his chief for signature.

“Will you not, sir,” he implored, “relent and add a postscript to Governor Livingston in favour of mercy for Mr. Meredith?”

“I have given you my reasons, Brereton, why I must not, and all further petitions can but pain us both.” Washington signed the series, and taking the sand-box, sprinkled the wet ink on each in turn. “Seal them, and see that they fail not to get into the post,” he ordered calmly. Yet as he rose to leave the room, he laid his hand affectionately on Jack’s shoulder, and said: “I grieve not to do it, my boy, for your sake and for hers.”

The aide took the chair the general had vacated, and began mechanically the closing of the letters; but when that to the Governor of New Jersey was reached, he paused in the process. After a little, he took from his pocket Janice’s frantic supplication, and reread it, his face displaying his response to her suffering. “And ten words would save him,” he groaned. His eye sought once more the unsealed letter, and stared at it fixedly. “At worst it will be my life, and that is worth little to me and nothing to any one else!” He snatched a pen hastily, dipped it in the ink, but as he set the tip to the paper, paused, his brow clouded. “To trick him after all his generosity!” For a trice Jack hesitated. “He stands too high to be injured by it,” he exclaimed. “It hurts not the cause, while ’t will kill her if they hang him.” Again he set pen to the paper, and wrote a postscript of four lines below Washington’s name. “’T is the devil’s work, or her good angel’s, that I had the writing of the letters, so the penmanship agrees,” he muttered, as he folded and sealed it. Gathering up the batch, he gave a reckless laugh. “I said I’d not lift finger to save him from the rope, and here I am taking his place on the gallows. Well, ’t is everything to do it for her, scorn and insult me as they may, and to die with the memory that my arms have held and my lips caressed her.”