They stayed a while in the lobby of the hotel, which was packed so densely that Harry could scarcely breathe. Most of the men were of the tall, thin but extremely muscular type, either clean shaven or with short beards trimmed closely, and no mustaches. Black was the predominant color in clothing, and they talked with soft, drawling voices. But their talk was sanguine. Most of them asked what the North would do, but they believed that whatever she did do the South would go on her way. The smoke from the pipes and cigars grew thicker, and Harry, leaving his comrades in the crowd, walked out upon the portico. The crisp, fresh air of the February night came like a heavenly tonic. He remained there a little while, breathing it in, expanding his lungs, and rejoicing. Then he walked over to the exact spot upon which Jefferson Davis had stood, when he delivered his speech of acceptance. He was so full of the scene that he shut his eyes and beheld it again. He tried to imagine the feelings of a man at such a moment, knowing himself the chosen of millions, and feeling that all eyes were upon him. Truly it would be enough to make the dullest heart leap. He opened his eyes, and although he stood in darkness on the portico, he saw a dusky figure at the far edge of it, standing between two pillars, and looking in at one of the windows. The man, whoever he was, seemed to be intently watching those inside, and Harry saw at once that it was not a look of mere curiosity. It was the gaze of one who wished to understand as well as to know. He moved a little nearer. The figure dropped lightly to the ground and moved swiftly away. Then he saw that it was Shepard. The boy's feelings toward Shepard had been friendly, but now he felt a sudden rush of hostility. All that Colonel Talbot had hinted about him was true. He was there, spying upon the Confederacy, seeking its inmost secrets, in order that he might report them to its enemies. Harry was armed. He and all his comrades carried new pistols at their belts, and driven by impulse he, too, dropped from the portico and followed Shepard. He saw the dusky figure ahead of him still going swiftly, but with his hand on the pistol he followed at greater speed. A minute later Shepard turned into a small side street, and Harry followed him there. It was not much more than an alley, dark, silent, and deserted. Montgomery was a small town, in which people retired early after the custom of the times, and tonight, the collapse after so much excitement seemed to have sent them sooner than usual into their homes. It was evident that the matter would lie without interference between Shepard and himself.