Arthur felt ill and much fatigued when he retired to rest, and was restless and disturbed with fever throughout the night. He had overtasked his delicate frame, yet scarce recovered from the effects of recent suffering, and he arose in the morning with a feeling of prostration that he could with difficulty overcome. However, he refreshed himself with a cup of tea, and prepared to call upon Miss Ayleff. It was but seven o’clock, a somewhat early hour for a morning visit, but the occasion was one for little ceremony. As he was on the point of leaving his room, there was a peremptory knock at the door, and, upon his invitation to walk in, a stranger entered. It was a gentlemanly personage, with a searching eye and a calm and quiet manner. Arthur was vexed to be delayed, but received the intruder with a civil inclination of the head, somewhat surprised, however, that no card had been sent to give him intimation of the visit.

“Are you Mr. Arthur Wayne?” inquired the stranger.

“I am he,” replied Arthur. “Be seated, sir.”

“I thank you. My name is . I am a deputy United States marshal of this district.”

Arthur bowed, and awaited a further statement of the purpose of his visit.

“You have lately arrived from Virginia, I understand?”

“A few days since, sir from a brief sojourn in the vicinity of Richmond.”

“And yesterday received a communication from that quarter?”

“I did. A letter from an intimate acquaintance.”

“My office will excuse me from an imputation of inquisitiveness. May I see that letter?”

“Excuse me, sir. Its contents are of a private and delicate nature, and intended only for my own perusal.”

“It is because its contents are of that nature that I am constrained to ask you for it. Pardon me, Mr. Wayne; but to be brief and frank you, I must either receive that communication by your good will, or call in my officers, and institute a search. I am sure you will not make my duty more unpleasant than necessary.”

Arthur paused awhile. He was conscious that it would be impossible for him to avoid complying with the marshal’s request, and yet it was most annoying to be obliged to make a third party cognizant of the facts contained in Beverly’s epistle.

“I have no desire to oppose you in the performance of your functions,” he finally replied, “but really there are very particular reasons why the contents of this letter should not be made public.”

A very faint indication of a smile passed over the marshal’s serious face; Arthur did not observe it, but continued:

“I will hand you the letter, for I perceive there has been some mistake and misapprehension which of course it is your duty to clear up. But you must promise me that, when your perusal of it shall have satisfied you that its nature is strictly private, and not offensive to the law, you will return it me and preserve an inviolable secrecy as to its contents.”

“When I shall be satisfied on that score, I will do as you desire.”

Arthur handed him the letter, somewhat to the other’s surprise, for he had certainly been watching for an attempt at its destruction, or at least was prepared for prevarication and stratagem. He took the paper from its envelope and read it carefully. It was in the following words:

Richmond, May , 1861.

Dear Arthur: This will be handed to you by a sure hand. Communicate freely with the bearer he can be trusted. The arms can be safely shipped as he represents, and you will therefore send them on at once. Your last communication was of great service to the cause, and, although I would be glad to have you with us, the President thinks you are too valuable, for the present, where you are. When you come, the commission will be ready for you. Yours truly,

Beverly Weems, Capt. C.S.A.

“Are you satisfied?” inquired Arthur, after the marshal had silently concluded his examination of the document.

“Perfectly satisfied,” replied the other, placing the letter in his pocket. “Mr. Wayne, it is my duty to arrest you.”

“Arrest me!”

“In the name of the United States.”

“For what offence?”

“Treason.”

Arthur remained for a while silent with astonishment. At last, as the marshal arose and took his hat, he said:

“I cannot conceive what act or word of mine can be construed as treasonable. There is some mistake, surely; I am a quiet man, a stranger in the city, and have conversed with but one or two persons since my arrival. Explain to me, if you please, the particular nature of the charge against me.”

“It is not my province, at this moment, to do so, Mr. Wayne. It is sufficient that, upon information lodged with me last evening, and forwarded to Washington by telegraph, I received from the Secretary of War orders for your immediate arrest, should I find the information true. I have found it true, and I arrest you.”

“Surely, nothing in that letter can be so misconstrued as to implicate me.”

“Mr. Wayne, this prevarication is as useless as it is unseemly. You know that the letter is sufficient warrant for my proceeding. My carriage is at the door. I trust you will accompany me without further delay.”

“Sir, I was about to proceed, when you entered, upon an errand that involves the safety and happiness of the young lady mentioned in that letter. The letter itself will inform you of the circumstance, and I assure you, events are in progress that require my immediate action. You will at least allow me to visit the party?”

The marshal looked at him with surprise.

“What party?”

“The lady of whom my friend makes mention.”

“I do not understand you. I can only conceive that, for some purpose of your own, you are anxious to gain time. I must request you to accompany me at once to the carriage.”

“You will permit me at least to send a, letter a word a warning?”

“That your accomplice may receive information? Assuredly not.”

“Be yourself the messenger or send

“This subterfuge is idle.” He opened the door and stood beside it. “I must request your company to the carriage.”

Arthur’s cheek flushed for a moment with anger.

“This severity,” he said, “is ridiculous and unjust. I tell you, you and those for whom you act will be accountable for a great crime for innocence betrayed for a young life made desolate for perhaps a dishonored grave. I plead not for myself, but for one helpless and pure, who at this hour may be the victim of a villain’s plot. In the name of humanity, I entreat you give me but time to avert the calamity, and I will follow you without remonstrance. Go with me yourself. Be present at the interview. Of what consequence to you will be an hour’s delay?”

“It may be of much consequence to those who are in league with you. I cannot grant your request. You must come with me, sir, or I shall be obliged to call for assistance,” and he drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

Arthur perceived that further argument or entreaty would be of no avail. He was much agitated and distressed beyond measure at the possible misfortune to Miranda, which, by this untimely arrest, he was powerless to avert. Knowing nothing of the true contents of the letter which Philip had substituted for the one received from Beverly, he could not imagine an excuse for the marshal’s inflexibility. He was quite ill, too, and what with fever and agitation, his brain was in a whirl. He leaned against the chair, faint and dispirited. The painful cough, the harbinger of that fatal malady which had already brought a sister to an early grave, oppressed him, and the hectic glowed upon his pale cheeks. The marshal approached him, and laid his hand gently on his shoulder.

“You seem ill,” he said; “I am sorry to be harsh with you, but I must do my duty. They will make you as comfortable as possible at the fort. But you must come.”

Arthur followed him mechanically, and like one in a dream. They stepped into the carriage and were driven rapidly away; but Arthur, as he leaned back exhausted in his seat, murmured sorrowfully:

“And poor little Mary, too! Who will befriend her now?”