“Well,” he said, “now that we begin to understand each other, let us come to the point at once. Where were you on the morning of the thirteenth of December, 1856?” Swartz replied without hesitation:-- “On the bank of Nottoway River, in Dinwiddie, Virginia, and bound for Petersburg.” “The object of your journey?” “To sell dried fruits and winter vegetables.” “Then you travelled in a cart, or a wagon?” “In a cart, general.” “You reached Petersburg without meeting with any incident on the way?” “I met with two very curious ones, general. I see you know something about the affair, and are anxious to know every thing. I will tell you the whole truth; but it will be best to let me do it in my own way.” “Do so, then,” said Mohun, fixing his eyes more intently upon the spy. Swartz was silent again for more than a minute, gazing on the floor. Then he raised his head, passed his red handkerchief over his brow, and said:-- “To begin at the beginning, general. At the time you speak of, December, 1856, I was a small landholder in Dinwiddie, and made my living by carting vegetables and garden-truck to Petersburg. Well, one morning in winter--you remind me that it was the thirteenth of December,--I set out, as usual, in my cart drawn by an old mule, with a good load on board, to go by way of Monk’s Neck. I had not gone two miles, however, when passing through a lonely piece of woods on the bank of the river, I heard a strange cry in the brush. It was the most startling you can think of, and made my heart stop beating. I jumped down from my cart, left it standing in the narrow road, and went to the spot. It was a strange sight I saw. On the bank of the river, I saw a woman lying drenched with water, and half-dead. She was richly dressed, and of very great beauty--but I never saw any human face so pale, or clothes more torn and draggled.” The spy paused. Mohun shaded his eyes from the light, with his hands, and said coolly:-- “Go on.” “Well, general--that was enough to astonish anybody--and what is more astonishing still, I have never to this day discovered the meaning of the woman’s being there--for it was plain that she was a lady. She was half-dead with cold, and had cried out in what seemed to be a sort of delirium. When I raised her up, and wrung the wet out of her clothes, she looked at me so strangely that I was frightened. I asked her how she had come there, but she made no reply. Where should I take her? She made no reply to that either. She seemed dumb--out of her wits--and, to make a long story short, I half led and half carried her to the cart in which I put her, making a sort of bed for her of some old bags. “I set out on my way again, without having the least notion what I should do with her--for she seemed a lady--and only with a sort of idea that her friends might probably pay me for my trouble, some day.