And plunging, or rather gliding into the shadow of the trees, he led the way without noise, to a point directly in rear of the vedette. A hundred yards farther a fire twinkled; and around this fire were the dusky figures of men and horses. This was evidently the picket. Three hundred paces to the left, rose a dark object, sombre and lugubrious against the night, which it exceeded in blackness. Only in the upper portion of the house, a dim light, like a star, glittered. “Some one is yonder,” came from Nighthawk in a murmur as before, “let us go there, colonel.” And crouching down until his body nearly reached the earth, my companion glided, snake-like, toward the house. I imitated him; we passed unobserved, and almost immediately were behind the house. Nighthawk then rose erect, and said in a whisper:-- “I am going to reconnoitre. Remain here, colonel. If I think you can come up without danger, I will make you a signal through that window.” With these words Nighthawk pointed to an open window about ten feet from the ground; glided past me through the broken sash of one beside which we were standing, and disappeared like a shadow. I waited, holding my breath. From the upper portion of the house came the muffled sound of voices. I was endeavoring to distinguish the words uttered, when I saw Nighthawk appear at the upper window, and make me a sign. That sign indicated that I might ascend with a reasonable amount of safety; and passing without noise through the window, I found myself in a bare and deserted apartment, with a single shutterless window opposite me. On the right was an open door. I passed through it, and found myself at the foot of a rough stairway, occupying half of a narrow passage. Ascending, not without more than one creak, which, I must confess, sent a tingle through my nerves, I reached the upper landing, found myself in front of a closed door, and beside this door encountered the warning hand of Nighthawk. “Look!” he said. And drawing me toward him, he pointed through a crack in the board partition, which separated the passage from the apartment. XXIX. DARKE’S PAST LIFE. Leaning on Nighthawk’s shoulder, I placed my eye at the aperture. On a broken chair beside the three-legged table sat Darke, booted, spurred, and armed with pistol and sabre. In an old rocking-chair, without arms, the singular woman, who seemed to accompany him everywhere, sat rocking to and fro, and carelessly tapping with a small whip, the handsome gray riding-habit which defined her slender and graceful figure.