“Yes, _you_, Miss Bridget Martin!” replied the officer in a mocking tone. Britomarte looked around in despair for Justin. She knew, of course, that he could not help her. She only wished to take leave of him, before going into a captivity that was likely to end in death. But Justin was nowhere to be seen. He was, in fact, several hundred yards in advance of her in the line of march. So Britomarte was taken into Castle Thunder, and delivered into the custody of the officer in command of that prison. First she was led into an office where her supposed name—Bridget Martin—was recorded in the prison books, and where a receipt was taken from the warden for her person. Then she was conducted to a cell opening on a corridor on the second floor, and having a broad grated window looking out upon the street. This cell was about seven by five in size, and was provided with a narrow mattress laid upon the floor, and covered with a gray blanket. There was no other furniture whatever. Yet still, how much better her situation was here than it had been in the Libby! As soon as the door was closed, and the key was turned, and she found herself alone, she sank down upon the mattress, for she was more than half dead with fatigue, and rested with a sense of infinite relief. When at last she could collect her thoughts, she wondered how it was that the rebels had discovered her sex, and what had put it into their heads that her name was Bridget Martin. At last her perspicacity penetrated the truth of the matter—some wounded rebel on the field near them had overheard the conversation between Justin and herself, and had mistaken her unfamiliar name of Britomarte for the common one of Bridget Martin. Farther it appeared that they did not know the name under which she had served in the Union army; so, with a smile, Britomarte resolved to leave them in ignorance of her identity, and under their mistake in regard to her name. She had scarcely formed this resolution when her cell-door was opened and one of the prison guard brought in her breakfast. It was only a small tin cup of Indian corn meal gruel; and it was unsalted; but Britomarte was more than half-famished, and she ate this simple food with a good relish. She asked the guard if there were many prisoners in the building. He answered: “Yes, Miss; four or five in every cell; but you are put here alone, because you are a woman.” So, then, even her guard knew her sex! But, of course! the name inscribed upon the prison books was Bridget Martin. She then asked the guard if she might be permitted to see the officer in command of the prison. He answered that he would find out as soon as she should be relieved. When he took the empty cup away, and Britomarte found herself again alone, she took off her military coat, ripped open its padding and took out a number of greenbacks; and then she put on her coat again.