Alfred made no reply, and they walked on in silence until the hotel was reached.  On entering the sitting room of the Bowman House, the two gentlemen were attracted by the loud talking of a group of men standing in the centre of the room.

“There stands an Englishman who lately run the blockade on a visit to the Confederacy,” observed Harry as they approached the group; “let me introduce him to you.”

Walking up to where the Englishman was, Harry touched him lightly on the shoulder.

“How are you Lieutenant Shackleford,” he said, as he turned and recognized Harry.

“Very well, Mr. Ellington,” answered Harry, and then added, “allow me to introduce my friend Mr. Wentworth to you—­Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Ellington.”

As the name of Wentworth escaped Harry’s lips the Englishman started and changed color, but quickly resuming his composure, he extended his hand to Alfred.

“I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir,” he observed, and then continued, “your features resemble those of a gentleman I have not seen for years—­so much, indeed, that I could not repress a start as my eyes fell upon your countenance.”

“I was rather surprised at seeing you start,” observed Harry, “for I knew that you were not acquainted with my friend Mr. Wentworth.  He was a prisoner at Camp Douglas—­the prison you have read so much about—­when you arrived in this country, and has only returned to the Confederacy within the last few days.”

“A mere resemblance to one whose intercourse with me was not fraught with many pleasant recollections,” remarked Mr. Ellington.  “Indeed your friend is so much like him, both in form and features, that I really imagined that he was my old enemy standing before me!”

“A singular resemblance,” said Alfred, “and one which I am rejoiced to know only exists in form and features.  And now,” he continued, “allow me to ask you a question.”

Mr. Ellington bowed an assent.

“Were you ever in this country before?” asked Alfred.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Ellington, “I visited America a few years ago, but why do you ask?”

“Because your features are familiar to me,” he answered, and then enquired, “Were you ever in New Orleans.”

“No, sir—­no,” replied Mr. Ellington, coloring as he spoke, “I was always afraid of the climate.”

“The reason of my asking you,” observed Alfred, “is because you resemble a gentleman with whom I was only very slightly acquainted, but who, like the party you mistook me for, has done me an injury which neither time nor explanation can repair, but,” he added, “now I recollect you cannot be the party to whom I refer, for he was a Northern man, while you are an Englishman.”

Before the Englishman could reply, a gentleman at the further end of the room called him by name, and, bowing to the two friends, he apologized for leaving them so abruptly, and walked off to where the call came from.