Nighthawk rose, went to the door, and caught Mr. Alibi eavesdropping--the result of which was that the penguin hastily moved off, muttering. In a minute he had shambled along and disappeared. No sooner had his figure vanished than Nighthawk turned hastily toward me. “Will you go with me to-night, colonel, on an expedition I intend to make?” he said. “An expedition, Nighthawk?” “A work of mercy, colonel; let us talk quickly. That man, Alibi, is a spy--for both sides--and I wish to arrange every thing before he returns.” “Explain, Nighthawk.” “I will, colonel. Do you remember that night in Richmond, when Swartz made an appointment to meet me at a house near Monk’s Neck?” “Perfectly.” “Well, this is the house,--and I expected important results from that meeting. Unfortunately, I was prevented, by some pickets who arrested me, from reaching this spot on the appointed day. I was here two days afterward, however--asked for Swartz--he had not been here--and as that was the most unaccountable thing in the world to me, I set out to find him.” “In the enemy’s lines?” “Yes, colonel. I had no doubt I would come across him somewhere. So I went through the country behind the Federal lines; looked everywhere for my man, have been looking ever since I left you--and at last have found him.” “Where?” “In the upper room of a deserted house, not three miles from this place, within the enemy’s picket line.” “The upper room of a deserted house?” ‘“Confined--put to starve there, colonel! The work of Darke, and that she-devil who goes about with him, I am willing to swear, colonel!” “Good heavens! Is it possible?” I said, “Swartz is shut up and left to starve?” “Exactly, colonel--and here is how I know it. I was coming back, worn out by my long search after Swartz, when in passing this house, I came suddenly upon a picket of about fifty men. To avoid being seen, I ran, being on foot, and got behind the house. I had no sooner done so, than I heard groans from the upper part of it--and as the house was entirely uninhabited, these sounds excited my curiosity--not to say astonishment. Well, I determined to, find the origin of them. I crawled through a broken window--reached the second floor by a dusty staircase, and went straight toward a door, behind which I heard the groaning. It was heavily locked, and I could not even shake it. Then I ran to the partition between the room and the passage--found it made of boards, between the cracks of which I could see--and looking in, I saw Swartz! He was sitting on an old broken chair, beside a table with three legs, and his hand was buried in his hair, as if he was trying to tear it out. “When I called to him, he started, and his groans stopped. He turned his head. No sooner had he recognized me than he cried out with joy; and for some moments he could say nothing but ‘Save me! save me! Nighthawk! They are starving me to death!’