ce between Schuyler, who picked his man, told him what he
desired, and left him to fulfil it, and Gates, who chose a man, flung
his inexperience into his face, and bade him twirl his thumbs and sit
idle until headquarters could teach him how to do what he had been
chosen to do, presumably upon his ability to do it!

A helpless sensation of paralysis came over me--a restless, confused
impression of my possible untrustworthiness, and of unfriendliness to me
in high quarters, even of a thinly veiled hostility to me.

What a letter! That was not the way to get work out of a
subordinate--this patronizing of possible energy and enthusiasm, this
cold dampening of ardor, as though ardor in itself were a reproach and
zeal required reproof.

Wondering why they had chosen me if they thought me a blundering and,
perhaps, mischievous zealot, I picked up a parcel, undirected, and broke
the string.

Out of it fell two letters. The writing was my cousin Dorothy's; and,
trembling all over in spite of myself, I broke the seal of the first. It
was undated:

"DEAREST,--Your letter from Oriskany is before me. I am here
in your room, the door locked, alone with your letter,
overwhelmed with love and tenderness and fear for you.

"They tell me that you have been made colonel of a regiment,
and the honor thrills yet saddens me--all those colonels
killed at Oriskany! Is it a post of special danger, dear?

"Oh, my brave, splendid lover! with your quiet, steady eyes
and your bright hair--you angel on earth who found me a child
and left me an adoring woman--can it be that in this world
there is such a thing as death for you? And could the world
last without you?

* * * * *

"Ah me! dreary me! the love that is in me! Who could believe
it? Who could doubt that it is divine and not inspired by
hell as I once feared; it is so beautiful, so hopelessly
beautiful, like that faint thrill of splendor that passes
shadowing a dream where, for an instant, we think to see a
tiny corner of heaven sparkling out through a million fathoms
of terrific night.... Did you ever dream that?

* * * * *

"We have been gay here. Young Mr. Van Rensselaer came from
Albany to heal the breach with father. We danced and had
games. He is a good young man, this patroon and patriot.
Listen, dear: