As it fell away, I found myself in a large and beautiful room. My eyes were dazzled by the light of many candles, and for a little I had to close them. I stood before two men. One sat facing me at a black table of carved oak--a man of middle age, in the uniform of a British general. Stout and handsome, with brown eyes, dark hair and mustache now half white, and nose aquiline by the least turn, he impressed me as have few men that ever crossed my path. A young man sat lounging easily in a big chair beside him, his legs crossed, his delicate fingers teasing a thin mustache. I noticed that his hands were slim and hairy. He glanced up at me as soon as I could bear the light. Then he sat looking idly at the carpet, The silence of the room was broken only by the scratch of a quill in the hand of the general. I glanced about me. On the wall was a large painting that held my eye: there was something familiar in the face. I saw presently it was that of the officer I had fought in the woods, the one who fell before me. I turned my head; the young man was looking up at me. A smile had parted his lips. They were the lips of a rake, it seemed to me. A fine set of teeth showed between them. "Do you know him?" he asked coolly. "I have not the honor," was my reply. "What is your name?" the general demanded in the deep tone I had heard before. "Pardon me," said the young man, quietly, as if he were now weary of the matter, "I do not think it necessary." There was a bit of silence. The general looked thoughtfully at the young man. "If your Lordship will let me--" he went on. "My dear sir," the other interrupted, in the same weary and lethargic manner, "I can get more reliable knowledge from other sources. Let the fellow go back." "That will do," said the general to the guard, who then covered my eyes and led me back to prison. Lying there in the dark, I told D'ri all I knew of my mysterious journey. My account of the young man roused him to the soul. "Wha' kind uv a nose hed he?" he inquired. "Roman," I said. "Bent in at the p'int a leetle?" "Yes." "And black hair shingled short?" "Yes." "An' tall, an' a kind uv a nasty, snookin', mis'able-lookin' cuss?" "Just about the look of him," I said. "Judas Priest! He's one o' them sneks et tuk me when you was fightin' t' other feller over there 'n the woods." "Looks rather bad for us," I remarked. "Does hev a ruther squeaky luk tew it," said he. "All we got t' dew is t' keep breathin' jest es nat'ral 'n' easy es can be till we fergit how. May fool 'em fust they know."