For the first time Somers realized that he had been imprudent in exposing himself to the machinations of these evil men. Before he had only felt a little uncomfortably, and harbored a vague suspicion that, in attempting to overreach others, he had committed himself. He had learned in his babyhood that it is dangerous to play with fire, but had never believed it so fully as at this moment. He had touched the pitch, and felt that he had been defiled by it. Though his conscience kept assuring him he was innocent, and protesting against a harsh judgment, he could not help regretting that he had not exposed the villains before he left Philadelphia, and permitted the consequences to take care of themselves. But stronger than any other impression, at this eventful moment, was the feeling that he was no match for men so deeply versed in treason and wickedness as Pillgrim and his confederates. He had played at the game of strategy, and been beaten. While he thought he was leading them on to confusion, they were actually entwining the meshes of the net around him. Mr. Pillgrim had just declared that he was the mysterious Coles. Somers, at first, found it very difficult to realize the fact. He had really seen Coles but once; but they had spent some hours together. At that time Coles wore long, black whiskers, which concealed two thirds of his face; Pillgrim wore no beard, not even a mustache. Coles was dressed in homely garments; Pillgrim, in an elegant uniform. Coles's hair was short and straight; Pillgrim's, long and curly at the ends. In height, form, and proportions, they were the same; and the difference between Coles and Pillgrim was really nothing which might not have been produced with a razor, a pair of barber's shears, and the contrast of dress. The familiarity of the lieutenant's expression, before unexplained, was now accounted for; and before his tyrant spoke again, Somers was satisfied that he actually stood in the presence of Coles. Pillgrim stood with folded arms, gazing at his victim, and enjoying the confusion which Somers could not conceal. The persecutor was a confident man, and fully believed that he was master of the situation, and that Somers would do anything he asked of him, even to going over into the rebel ranks. He was mistaken; for Somers, deep as he felt that he was in hot water, would have chosen to hang at the fore yard-arm, rather than betray his country, or be false to her interests. "You just now remarked that you should know Coles if you saw him," sneered Pillgrim. "I know you now," replied Somers, bitterly. "I see you do; but you will know me better before we part." "I know you well enough now. You are a rebel and a traitor; and what I said of Coles I say of you,--that you are the greatest villain that ever went unhung." "I don't like that kind of language, Mr. Somers," replied Pillgrim, with entire coolness and self-possession. "It isn't the kind of language which one gentleman should apply to another."