“All right,” answered the latter, when his prisoners had formally reported. “And now, Colonel Rosenthal,” he added, “Major Monck is prepared to receive you, and I am ready to escort you to his presence.” Justin bowed and followed Bannister, who led the way out of the room, across the hall, and through the opposite door, that admitted them into the apartment occupied by Monck. It was a chamber exactly similar in size and appearance to the one they had just left. But it was furnished rudely as an office or sitting-room, with rough-hewn tables, chairs, stands and shelves. The floor, walls and windows were bare, but there was a fine fire of pine wood blazing in the chimney, and diffusing an air of cheerfulness even over this dreary scene. Four or five soldiers lounged about the room, standing before the fire or gazing out of the windows. A large, square deal table stood in the middle of the floor. Seated at it, and gazing at a map spread out before him, was the guerrilla Monck. This notorious leader, hated even by his own men, needs here a particular description. In the first place, he did not look the least like the popular idea of a guerrilla, or even of a soldier. He looked far more like a rogue and a hypocrite. He was a very large, fat, fair man, with a round head, covered with short cropped flaxen hair, a big white face, pale grey eyes, and full, sensual lips. He was dressed in a loose fitting suit of Confederate gray. And his broad-brimmed, soft felt hat lay on the table before him. If he had been really intoxicated the night before, there was little in his lymphatic appearance to betray the fact now. All these circumstances Colonel Rosenthal had time to observe while waiting for the great leader to look up from his map, and deign to notice his visitors. CHAPTER XIX. A COLD-BLOODED SENTENCE. ’Tis now past midnight, and by eight to-morrow Thou must be made immortal. If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it to my breast.—SHAKSPEARE. At length Monck looked up from his map, but he turned his heavy white face towards Colonel Rosenthal and stared with his big blue eyes straight through that gentleman’s head as if it had not stood in his line of vision. Monck was evidently in a maze, being still bewildered with his geographical puzzles. With a courteous bow and wave of his hand towards his companions, Captain Bannister motioned him up to the guerrilla chief and presented him. “Colonel Rosenthal, of the —— Cavalry. Major Monck.”