“Colonel Rosenthal,” said Monck, “I place you in the hands of Captain Bannister, who will see you safely beyond our lines.” Justin bowed grimly, and then inquired: “My two orderlies?” “Their lives will be safe. We don’t hang children! We shall hold them prisoners until they are exchanged. And now, for Heaven’s sake, be off with yourself, and leave me to settle with those howling furies outside.” Thus urged, Justin followed Captain Bannister, who conducted him through the back door into a back yard, where they mounted two horses that stood ready saddled and bridled; and thence they rode through the garden and the orchard, and round where the edge of the woods skirted the old field, and by that covered path to the ferry, where they were challenged by the sentinel on duty. Bannister gave the countersign, and passed with his companion. The old ferryman came out of his house at the captain’s summons, and got his boat ready. And in a few minutes Justin was safely landed on the other side of the river. His guard, however, did not leave him until they had passed all the pickets, and reached the extreme outposts of the guerrillas’ encampment. Then Captain Bannister took from his pocket the paper that Monck had given him, and handed it to Justin, saying: “In case you should meet with any scouts of our band, you have only to show them this paper, and you will pass unmolested.” Justin took the paper with a bow, and then thanked Captain Bannister for all his courtesy. “You will follow this path through the wood until you reach the turnpike road leading to W.—the same road upon which our men first surprised you,” said Captain Bannister. “Thanks! All right. I shall find the way,” answered Justin. And the two men parted—Captain Bannister returning towards the camp and Colonel Rosenthal proceeding on his way. It was the same dark and narrow path, through the thick, impenetrable forest, that he had travelled as a prisoner on the night previous. And his progress was of course as slow and difficult now as it had been then. His soul was troubled, too, for the boys he had left behind. He was somewhat comforted by the assurance of Monck that their lives should be safe, and he was cheered by the recollection of Wing’s words; but still he was most anxious to get on to W., that he might at once see to the exchange of the prisoners. Two hours of slow riding brought him to the high road, upon which he emerged just as the moon was rising, and flooding all the valley with light. Here, where there was no obstruction, he put spurs to his horse, and flew along at a furious rate of speed for several miles, when suddenly his horse fell lame.