“Well,” I said, as I walked on, “this is a charming adventure and conveys a tolerably good idea of the city of Richmond, after dark, in the year 1864. Our friend Blocque is garroted, and robbed of his ‘honest earnings,’ at one fell swoop by a footpad! The worthy citizen is waylaid; his pockets rifled; his life desolated. All the proceeds of a life of virtuous industry have disappeared. Terrible condition of things!--awful times when a good citizen can not go home to his modest supper of canvas-backs and champagne, without being robbed by----his brother robber!” Indulging in these reflections, not unaccompanied with smiles, I continued my way, with little fear, myself, of pickpockets or garroters. Those gentry were intelligent. They were never known to attack people with gray coats--they knew better! They attacked the black coats, in the pockets of which they suspected the presence of greenbacks and valuable papers; never the gray coats, where they would find only a frayed “leave of absence” for their pains! I thus banished the whole affair from my mind; but it had aroused and excited me. I did not feel at all sleepy; and finding, by a glance at my watch beneath a lamp, that it was only half past ten, I resolved to go and ask after the health of my friend, Mr. X-----, whose house was only a square or two off. This resolution I proceeded at once to carry out. A short walk brought me to the house, half buried in its shrubbery; but as I approached I saw a carriage was standing before the house. Should I make my visit then, or postpone it? Mr. X----- evidently had company. Or had the carriage brought a visitor to some other member of the household? Mr. X----- was only a boarder, and I might be mistaken in supposing that _he_ was engaged at the moment. As these thoughts passed through my mind, I approached the gate in the iron railing. The carriage was half hidden by the shadow of the elms, which grew in a row along the sidewalk. On the box sat a motionless figure. The vehicle and driver were as still and silent as if carved out of ebony. “Decidedly I will discover,” I said, and opening the gate I turned into the winding path through the shrubbery, which led toward the rear of the house; that is to say, toward the private entrance to the room of Mr. X-----. Suddenly, as I passed through the shadowy shrubs, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I started back, and unconsciously felt for some weapon. “Don’t shoot me, colonel!” said a voice in the darkness, “I am a friend.” I recognized the voice of Nighthawk. “Good heavens! my dear Nighthawk,” I said, drawing a long breath of relief, “you are enough to make Alonzo the Brave, himself, tremble? You turn up everywhere, and especially in the dark! What are you doing here?” “I am watching, colonel,” said Nighthawk, with benignant sweetness. “Watching?” “And waiting.” “Waiting for whom?” “For a lady with whom you have the honor of being acquainted.” “A lady--?”