Having pronounced this dreadful sentence in the coolest manner, Monck tossed off his tumbler of brandy, and then looked up to see what effect the words had had upon his intended victim. Colonel Rosenthal’s countenance was not changed in the slightest degree. He was still sitting back in his chair, contemplating Monck with that expression of mingled curiosity and perplexity with which he had hitherto listened to the guerrilla chieftain’s strange discourse. It was now Monck’s turn to stare with astonishment at his prisoner. “Well, I’m dashed! if ever I saw a fellow receive a sentence of death so coolly in all my life! Thunder, man, did you hear what I said to you? I have just told you that I shall have to hang you in about an hour!” exclaimed the chieftain. “I heard you, Major Monck,” coldly and haughtily replied the captive. “You did, eh? Well, upon my word, you take things coolly for a young one. What do you think of it? What have you got to say?” “Certainly I cannot think you speak seriously, Major Monck, and I must say that your jest is a very coarse and brutal one, not even to be excused upon the plea of intoxication,” said Colonel Rosenthal, in strong disgust. “I’m blasted if I ever was more serious or more sober in my life! It’s a very serious and sober business, let me tell you, and a blamed disagreeable one into the bargain especially at night, when the rites have to be solemnized by torchlight. We _might_ wait until the moon rises, only we shall be obliged to get away from here under cover of the darkness, and we must execute you before we move. A devil of a bore! I had no idea, when I invited you to dine with me, that I should have to finish up the evening’s entertainment by hanging you. But you see how it is. Fortune of war. Fortune of war.” “Major Monck, I must request you, if you please, to desist from this brutal style of jesting, which is certainly as degrading to you as it is insulting to me,” said Colonel Rosenthal with calm dignity. “Jesting, _jesting_, say you! Dashed if I ever felt less like jesting in my life! blazes, man, don’t you see that I’m in blood earnest? But come, light another cigar. Here’s a good one; try it—do. We have plenty of time; let’s see,” said Monck, pushing a fine cigar towards his prisoner, and taking out his watch to consult it—“Oh, yes, plenty of time to smoke another cigar apiece. Let us make ourselves comfortable. It is now only five minutes past eight, and we needn’t hang you until nine; that will give us an hour to finish up your job neatly, and then get away under cover of the darkness, before the moon rises at ten. Come, light your weed, and let’s enjoy each other’s company while we can.”