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 190 captains. A gray circular cape concealed her slender form, but I could observe the frequent turning of her head as she apparently conversed vivaciously with her attentive escorts. After we reached the crossroads Raymond spurred his horse forward and joined them, evidently convinced that my guard was sufficiently vigilant, although he stopped in passing to test the knot which bound my hands behind the saddle. It was an insolent act, but I gave no outward sign of resentment, not even glancing aside at his face as he finally rode on. No one spoke to me, the sergeant gripping my rein in one hand, his face as expressionless as though carved from stone. Once I asked a question of the trooper on the other side—a rather pleasant faced lad—but he only shook his head, and looked away. I was thus driven to my own solitary thoughts, and they were far from enjoyable.

I had been caught red-handed, within the enemy's lines, dressed in Federal uniform, and bearing papers purporting to belong to Lieutenant Raymond. There was no defense I could offer, no plea for mercy I could make. The court-martial before which I would be brought for trial would be merely a form—I was condemned already. I realized all this, yet the knowledge of my desperate condition did not weigh on my mind as heavily as did the memory of my