“Yes,” said Tom. Of course, he thought, it would not do for the writer of the message to be suspected of having assisted him, a member of Marion’s Brigade, into the city. That was, then, the reason for all this secrecy. He was led quickly up a flight of stone steps; a heavy door opened and closed behind him. They then passed down a long corridor, and entered a room where, as Tom could perceive even through the thick bandage, there were a great many brilliant lights. “Now,” said the person who had conducted him, “I am going to leave you here. Wait the space of a full minute; then you may remove the bandage.” Tom heard his footstep cross the floor and the door softly close behind him. All was then silent; his ears were straining to catch any sound that would indicate the presence of any one else in the apartment; he longed to tear the blinding kerchief from his eyes. He could hear a great, solemn clock in the room slowly ticking off the seconds, each of which seemed an age; but, at last, unable any longer to bear the suspense, he pulled the bandage away with a sudden jerk, and glared about him. Many candles were burning upon tables, stands and in brackets on the wall. As he gazed at his surroundings a strange sense of familiarity came to him; the furnishings, the shape of the room, the position of the windows and doors, the pictures upon the walls. “There can be no mistake,” he whispered to himself, a strange chill creeping over him. “I am standing in my father’s house.” Wonder possessed him; the thing was strange beyond his dreams of strangeness; he could, try as he would, make nothing of it. Then footsteps sounded--heavy, commanding footsteps that approached the door leading into the room from the main hall. Tom stood in the middle of the apartment bathed in the full glare of the lighted candles, waiting; the door opened and two British officers entered, each big, red-faced and imperious-looking, and each bearing upon the breast of his scarlet coat many glittering orders and decorations. They were Lieutenant-Colonel Tarleton and the Earl of Cornwallis! CHAPTER XII HOW TOM TOOK PART IN A MYSTERIOUS CONSULTATION FOR a moment Tom Deering was rendered powerless by the sudden shock of the surprise; he stood staring at the two British officers with wide-open eyes. Then a feeling of helplessness swept over him--a sense of being caught--of having been lured into the clutches of his foes. He could not speak; at each tick of the clock he expected to hear them denounce him. But they did not; they bowed to him silently and advanced to the table at the centre of the room and sat down; Tarleton was looking straight at him, but gave not the slightest sign of having recognized him; Cornwallis had taken up a quill from the table, and was tapping with it upon the table, a flickering smile upon his face. “You seemed rather disturbed,” said he.