Aaron gave her no inkling of his purpose, nor of the grim interchange of notes between two estates on Manhattan Island—Richmond Hill and the Grange. Hamilton's hatred had finally subdued his caution, his attacks could no longer be ignored. For years Aaron bad ignored them, disdaining to notice rumors or oblique references. Cheetham's scurrilous articles could not be certainly traced to Hamilton, and they had become so violent as to defeat their purpose anyway.

But one of Cheetham's published taunts had rankled: 'Has the Vice-President sunk so low as to permit himself to be insulted by General Hamilton?' That appeared in the heat of the gubernatorial campaign. Aaron, completely contemptuous of the source, had tried to dismiss it from his mind along with the other slanders. It was not so easily dismissed, however.

He could treat with disdain attacks on his morals, his politics, even on his reputation, but his physical courage had never before been impugned. His one real vanity lay in his military record for conspicuous bravery during the War of Independence.

On June fifteenth he sat in his library at Richmond Hill with a newspaper open on his desk before him: a newspaper that had been brought by young John Swartwout. The young man's face was red with indignation; his voice quivered as he flung the sheet before Aaron. 'Look at this, sir. By God, it's too much!'

Aaron's eyebrows shot up, and he smiled. 'What now, my hot young friend? More insinuations against the VicePresident?'

'This is more than insinuation, sir. This is too direct to be overlooked.'

Aaron ran his eyes over the letter which had been printed without comment: a letter from an unknown Doctor Cooper to a friend.

General Hamilton and Judge Kent have declared, in substance, that they looked upon Mr. Burr to be a dangerous man, and one who ought not to be trusted with the reins of government.... I could detail to you a still more despicable opinion which General Hamilton has expressed of Mr. Burr.

Aaron's face was impassive. He leaned back in his chair and offered his snuffbox to the excited young man, who was watching him anxiously.

Swartwout waved the snuff aside, crying: 'But what are you going to do, sir? You can't let it pass. You will be derided, people will think you are afraid——'

Aaron shook his head. 'Softly, John. There is nothing new in this. Hamilton, it seems, is forever interested in labeling me with "despicable, and more despicable." I am flattered that he finds me of such enduring interest.'

'But this is different, sir. It's in print, a direct quotation!' Aaron laughed. 'Even so. It's in print, and that makes all the difference. Don't look so woebegone. I do not intend to let it pass. My patience is indeed exhausted.'

Swartwout brightened. 'What will you do, sir?'