With a powerful effort Tom pulled himself together; he was caught, but there was no use in his showing the white feather, he thought. So he replied, quietly enough: “I must confess to being slightly surprised, sir. But that is all.” Cornwallis’ smile broadened. “Just so,” chuckled he. “You did not expect to meet two British officers, I suppose.” “I had no idea whom I was to meet,” said the young swamp-rider. “Of course not; how could you?” Cornwallis tapped the table with the point of the quill, thoughtfully; now and then his eyes would wander from Tom’s face to that of Tarleton; he seemed to be considering something very carefully. “I had thought,” said he at last, “to meet a very different person.” “A rather older person, to be sure,” said Tarleton. Tom bent his head slightly, but said nothing. “Of course,” said the commander of the British army, “you do not know either of us--no more than we know you. It is better so; the work that you are about to do is of exceeding peril, and the less we know of each other, the better.” Tom looked at the speaker in astonishment. However, he did not allow the feeling to show in his face; they were playing with him, he fancied; and he suddenly resolved that he would bear his part in it, and prove that he was not afraid. “I had thought,” said he coolly, after a moment’s silence, “that I had met this gentleman,” nodding toward Tarleton, “before.” “You have just come to Charleston, from Canada,” said Tarleton. “How could you?” The expression upon the man’s face as he said this, puzzled Tom; he seemed to be sincere; he seemed to mean it; and not the slightest recollection of having met Tom in a hand to hand conflict that day in the swamps was observable in his countenance. What could it all mean? The lad began to doubt the evidence of his own senses. “How,” asked Lord Cornwallis, “is Sir Henry?” “Sir Henry?” Tom looked at him dully. “Of course, Sir Henry Clinton.” Tom recovered, with a slight gasp. “Oh,” said he, “he was quite well when last I heard of him.” “Then,” said Cornwallis, “he does not write to you very often.” “No,” confessed the lad, “he does not.” “I had thought that he would neglect it after a time. He has a short memory at best. However, since you have arrived here safely it does not matter.” “You received the list of names which we sent you?” inquired Tarleton. “I did,” answered Tom, his mind going at once to the papers which he had received, but had not understood. “You did not get much information from them, of course,” put in Cornwallis, with a laugh. “But that was not to be expected; you must become acquainted with the section first.” The truth was slowly dawning upon the young scout; these men were not playing with him as he had supposed. They were serious; they had mistaken him for another--for a person whom they had never seen, and who was due in Charleston, upon some mysterious errand, at that time.