"Well," said I, "'tis a thousand to one, that if Colonel Washington
hadn't been disappointed of a king's commission, he wouldn't now be
leader of the king's enemies." I knew I had no warrant the slightest
for attributing Mr. Washington's patriotism to such a petty motive as
a long-cherished resentment of royal neglect; and years afterward, in
London, I was to chastise an equally reckless speaker for a similar
slander; but I was young and partisan, and being nettled by the
reminder of my inconsistency, spoke to irritate.

"That is a lie!" said Phil, quietly, looking me straight in the face.

Such a word from Philip made me stare in amazement; but it did not
improve my temper, or incline me to acknowledge the injustice I had
uttered. My face burned, my fingers clenched. But it was Philip that
had spoken; and a thing or two flashed into my mind in the pause; and,
controlling myself, I let out a long breath, opened my fists, and,
with the best intentions in the world, and with the quietest voice,
gave him a blow far more severe than a blow of the fist had been.

"I will take that from you, Phil," said I: "God knows, your stand in
this rebellion has caused you enough unhappiness."

He winced, and sent me a startled look, stung at my alluding to the
estrangement of his wife. I know not whether he took it as a taunt
from so dear a friend, or whether the mere mention of so delicate a
sorrow was too much for him; but his face twitched, and he gave a
swallow, and was hard put to it to hold back the tears.

"Forgive me," I said, stricken to the heart at sight of this. "I am
your friend always, Phil." I put a hand upon his shoulder, and his
face turned to a kindly expression of pardon, a little short of the
smile he dared not yet trust himself to attempt.

Margaret's demeanour to him, indeed, had not shown the smallest
softening. But to the rest of the world, after the immediate effects
of that Sunday scene had worn off, she seemed vastly more sparkling
and fascinating than ever before: whether she was really so, and of
intention, or whether the appearance was from contrast with her
treatment of Philip, I dare not say. But the impression was Philip's,
I think, as well as every one's else; and infinitely it multiplied the
sorrow of which he would not speak, but which his countenance could
not conceal. When the news of the affair at Bunker's Hill was
discussed at the supper-table one evening in June, I being present,
and Margar