Late in the forenoon the commander of the prison, or some other officer evidently in authority, came into the cell. Britomarte arose from her sitting posture on the mattress, and stood up to receive her visitor. There was neither chair nor stool, so she could not ask him to sit down. “What is it you wish to say to me?” he inquired. A vivid blush overspread the face of Britomarte as she answered: “I wish to know whether I may be permitted to purchase garments suitable to my sex?” “It is a pity you ever abandoned them,” said the officer. “I do not think so; I have done good service to my country while wearing this uniform. But you have not answered the question.” “I have no authority to answer it. But I will make inquiries.” “Thank you,” said Britomarte. And the visitor, who had appeared at her summons, like a ghost evoked from the shades, now disappeared in the same manner. Two or three days passed before the privilege she sued for was granted to her. But at length she was permitted, through the agency of the prison officials, to purchase clothing and re-assume the dress of her sex. Also a chair was provided her, and coarse but clean sheets, for all of which she paid heavily in Federal notes; but thus she enjoyed a comparative degree of comfort. CHAPTER XLII. “THE BEGINNING OF THE END.” The conflict raged! The din of arms—the yell Of savage hate—the shriek of agony— The groan of death, commingled in one sound Of undistinguished horrors; while the sun, Retiring slow beneath the plain’s far verge, Shed o’er the quiet hills his fading light.—SOUTHEY. For many months Britomarte remained a prisoner in Castle Thunder. She was not brought to trial as a spy. She was brought up once or twice for an informal examination before the provost marshal or some other officer in authority. But when questioned she remained absolutely silent; so that no information could be obtained from her. And the only witness that could be found to give testimony in her case, was the wounded rebel soldier who had overheard the conversation between herself and her lover, and who swore that her name as heard by himself was Bridget Martin. So as Bridget Martin she was remanded to prison, where she seemed likely to remain until the end of the war. That end was not very far off. General Grant was slowly but surely fighting his way to Richmond, winding around it coil after coil of that “anaconda grasp ever tightening,” that was destined to destroy the doomed Confederate capital. In due time Colonel Rosenthal was exchanged and released; but so broken in health from the pains and privations of his captivity, that when he reported himself for duty at his brigade headquarters, he was immediately sent home on sick leave. And there it required many weeks of Erminie’s careful and skillful nursing before his strength could be restored.