Summary

Francis Lynde Mr. Arnold: A romance of the Revolution (1923)

I had a part answer to this puzzling question of the reason for Castner’s delay when, while I was as yet hanging upon my heel and not knowing which way to turn, I saw an officer with the shoulder-straps of a general descending Sir Henry Clinton’s steps; a man walking slowly and with his head bowed and his hands tightly locked behind him. The man was Benedict Arnold; and they had just been giving him the undeniable proof of my treachery. I knew it as well as if I had been an eavesdropper at the conference behind Sir Henry Clinton’s closed door.
Source: Gutenberg

Francis Lynde Mr. Arnold: A romance of the Revolution (1923)

The human mind shuffles its cards quickly at such a crisis. Had my secret been my own, she should have had it there and then, and all would have been well. I knew I could trust her, notwithstanding the fact that she was Margaret Arnold’s friend—and her fellow-guest in the house across the square, I feared.
But the secret was not mine, and with the second thought came the enlightening glimpse of how horribly it would distress and embarrass her if she should have even a hint of my true reason for this miserable masquerade.
Source: Gutenberg

Francis Lynde Mr. Arnold: A romance of the Revolution (1923)

I do not at all understand these things, Dick: no woman ever can, I fear. We are taught at our mother’s knees that a lie is wrong; a thing to shudder at, to turn away from in loathing. We are taught that the finest things in those we love are truth and honor, and that the finest of all is the high honor’s honor that rises above the most binding necessity, or seeming necessity, that can constrain us.
Source: Gutenberg

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