I held out my hand to him, while weak hot tears ran down my face; for though I knew of his treason, one of my lifetime idols was now shattered by the sight. Still he smiled calmly and with shameful indifference, or sarcasm, without reply in words. One singular thing here occurred. Muddy, with his bark of greeting, came leaping and fawning on me; but, without one wag of his tail in greeting for Jot! “Even the dog,” said Sam, sadly, “has turned against him.” My heart was heavy with pain. Jot had not offered to take my hand. Had he been hardened in shame by his treason? A division staff officer had come up, with others, for his questioning. There was evidently about to be a drum-head court martial. Still preserving his outward indifference, Jot was questioned. “What is your name?” Turning his face with an ironical glance at me, he replied: “Adolph Von Rucker.” “What is your rank?” “Captain of the 21st Prussian Guards,” he replied, proudly. “Do you know this man?” said the interrogating officer to me. “Yes,” I replied, saluting. “It is Jonathan Nickerson, late lieutenant of Co. ---- Regt., U. S. A. Reserves,” for I thought that his masquerading could not serve him for long. “What do you reply to that?” interrogated the examining officer. “I make no reply,” he replied firmly, “other than that it is false; a mistake probably. Lieutenant Stark has mistaken me for my brother, who is very like me. I am Captain Adolph Von Rucker, as I have before asserted.” “How do you identify him?” asked the officer, turning to me. “Adolph Von Rucker, whom I met, had an arm that hung loose in his sleeve,” I answered. “Yes,” he replied, lifting his helmet with the left hand and brushing away the clotted hair with the other; “he’s right.” Then putting both hands in front of him he called attention to the arms explaining, “One arm is two inches shorter than the other because of resection.” “Remove your coat, Captain,” said the officer. One sleeve of his coat was slipped from his arm,--the undergarment was rolled back disclosing the scar of a wound. “A clever piece of surgery,” explained the prisoner. “Two inches of bone sawed away and united by a silver wire. It is a little loose. But I can use it quite handily--when I choose,” he added with a side glance at me. “I am Captain Adolph Von Rucker, as I have declared.” Then turning again to the examining officer he spoke in his ear a few words that could not be understood by others. The officer nodded as if in assent and the prisoner was led away. My heart rose again. I was not to see Jot shot or hanged. It was not my former friend, thank God! but Adolph Von Rucker, his half-brother.