"BOB, my boy," said he, "how the mischief did you get into this scrape?" "This is some of your family's Chivalry," responded Mr. PETERS, shortly. "My governor certainly did come it over you a little," observed the visitor, who was no other than the younger ORDETH; "but you might have gone off safely enough if you'd been at the bridge at quarter-past Twelve, as you were told. I don't like the governor's style any more than you do, and if you had come to time I could have passed you out of the lines easily enough." "I did come to time," answered BOB, with great bitterness, "and a pretty time of night it was. How did I get into this scrape? The Southern Confederacy brought me here. I've had enough of you and your family. It affords me satisfaction to contemplate a perspective in which your family are attending a funeral of one of their number whose demise would be attended with funeral honors, if all his comrades were not engaged in the work of running away from MCCLELLAN." Mr. PETERS hazarded this cutting insinuation of the future with an expression of countenance rigidly severe. "But, my dear boy, there is some mistake. You--" "Enough, Sir!" "Oh, very well; if you won't you won't," exclaimed the Confederate youth, growing very red in the face. "All I have to say is, that I have done my part as your friend. If you had been at the bridge at quarter-past Twelve last night, you might be back among the Yankees now. And, let me tell you, those same Yankees will never conquer the South." "Perhaps not," said Mr. PETERS, ironically. "One of our officers has just invented a new gun that will soon teach the North manners," continued the Confederate, with increasing heat. "It throws one-hundred-pound balls as fast as a man can turn the handle." "Ah!" said BOB, sneeringly. "Yes; and it has but one defect." "What's that?" asked BOB, with some appearance of interest. "The handle won't turn!" ejaculated the young Virginian, darting hastily from the room to hide his emotion. Mr. PETERS looked vaguely after the retreating form of the sensitive youth, and as one of the keepers relocked the door again from the outside, his face sank upon his hands. What did his visitor mean by accusing him of not making his appearance at the appointed time? It was exactly quarter-past Twelve when he left the house. "I see how it is," murmured Mr. PETERS, between his hands; "the boy has been taking something hot." CHAPTER VI.--ANOTHER VISITOR.