o
groups of shrubbery, and sometimes I gazed absently on the sparkling
Potomac, while memory was retracing the events of my life, and
recalling the dear ones connected with them. Just as I reached a large
tree which formed the boundary of my prescribed course, the next
sentinel, whose walk began where mine ended, approached the same tree,
and before he turned again we met face to face for an instant. I
started, and I confess to a momentary feeling of superstition; for I
thought I had seen myself; and that, you know, is said to be a warning
of approaching death. He could not have seen me very plainly, for I
was in shadow, while he for an instant was clearly revealed by the
moonlight. Anxious to be sure whether I had seen a vision or a
reality, when I again approached the tree I waited for him; and a
second time I saw such a likeness of myself as I never saw excepting
in the mirror. He turned quickly, and marched away with military
promptitude and precision. I watched him for a moment, as his erect
figure alternately dipped into shadow and emerged into light. I need
not tell you what I was thinking of while I looked; for you can easily
conjecture. The third time we met, I said, 'What is your name?' He
replied, 'George Falkner,' and marched away. I write on a drumhead, in
a hurry. As soon as I can obtain a talk with this duplicate of myself,
I will write to you again. But I shall not mention my adventure to
Lily-mother. It would only make her unhappy."

Another letter, which arrived a week after, contained merely the
following paragraph on the subject that interested them most:--

"We soldiers cannot command our own movements or our time. I have been
able to see G.F. but once, and then our interview was brief. He seemed
very reserved about himself. He says he came from New York; but his
speech is Southern. He talks about 'toting' things, and says he
'disremembers,' I shall try to gain his confidence, and perhaps I
shall be able to draw him out."

A fortnight later he wrote:--

"I have learned from G.F. that the first thing he remembers of himself
is living with an old negress, about ten miles from New Orleans, with
eight other children, of various shades, but none so white as himself.
He judges he was about nine years old when he was carried to New
Orleans, and let out by a rich man named Bruteman to a hotel-keeper,
to black boots, do errands, &c. One of the children that the old
negress brought up with him was a mula