I knew I would have to run great risks. There would be first and always a chance of being picked up and summarily finished in an unprepared moment. There would be the possibility that Captain DeLacy had been sent on temporary duty to some other point than that where I expected to find him. And if I found him, there would be a chance of his having received a late letter from Salome, which would prove my story a falsehood. Of the latter, however, I did not think there would be much danger. In our army orders had gone into effect some days previous that no letters or papers of any kind should be sent or received. It was most likely that mail was equally scarce among the Rebels.
I thought it would be strange if I did not gleam a few facts, which would be of use to us, during my interview with Captain DeLacy and during the time required to make my way in and out of the Confederate camp, wherever it might prove to be.
I left my chamber and made my way through the darkened hall to the family rooms at the front of the house, my footsteps sounding loud in the unaccustomed stillness. Determined as I was to do what I had planned, I involuntarily hesitated a moment before I opened the first closed door, then shaking off the feeling of reluctance, I went on with my work.
A search of Salome's and my aunt's rooms soon secured me an outfit sufficient for my purpose—a dark dress, several white petticoats, a pair of shoes, a long, black cloak and an embroidered neck scarf, which I had often seen Salome wear, also a heavy black veil and a pair of gloves, odorous with the perfume Salome always had about her. I carried the clothes to my room to try the effect.
After putting on the other things I muffled my head in the veil. The disguise was perfect. Even I was startled for a moment, so precisely did I look like Salome. I had drawn the veil enough over my face to entirely conceal my short hair and had contrived to fasten the curl of Salome's, which I always carried with me, to an inner fold in such a way that it showed below it at the left side, in exact imitation of the way Salome had worn one when I had last seen her.
My training had left me deeply tinctured with the idea that an army officer must have no inconvenient emotions, but I then and there, early in my career, proved that they do. It was absurd, but I could have wept. Salome's exact image looked back at me from the mirror, and an intense longing to take the deceiving reflection into my arms came over me. For a moment I lost all the pride and valor of a son of Mars. I was only a very ordinary mortal, to whom the war was hateful in the extreme. I had no more ambition than an assistant company cook.
It did not last long. I swallowed away at the wretched lump in my throat and looked at myself, as reflected, with the critical eye of a person trying to penetrate a disguise.