“Your heart will make my words clear to you.  I had never expected
to say so much, but it has come upon me that I must say the utmost.

EDITHA.”

She thought she had worded her letter well, worded it in a way that could not be bettered; all had been implied and nothing expressed.

She had it ready to send with the packet she had tied with red, white, and blue ribbon, when it occurred to her that she was not just to him, that she was not giving him a fair chance.  He had said he would go and think it over, and she was not waiting.  She was pushing, threatening, compelling.  That was not a woman’s part.  She must leave him free, free, free.  She could not accept for her country or herself a forced sacrifice.

In writing her letter she had satisfied the impulse from which it sprang; she could well afford to wait till he had thought it over.  She put the packet and the letter by, and rested serene in the consciousness of having done what was laid upon her by her love itself to do, and yet used patience, mercy, justice.

She had her reward.  Gearson did not come to tea, but she had given him till morning, when, late at night there came up from the village the sound of a fife and drum, with a tumult of voices, in shouting, singing, and laughing.  The noise drew nearer and nearer; it reached the street end of the avenue; there it silenced itself, and one voice, the voice she knew best, rose over the silence.  It fell; the air was filled with cheers; the fife and drum struck up, with the shouting, singing, and laughing again, but now retreating; and a single figure came hurrying up the avenue.

She ran down to meet her lover and clung to him.  He was very gay, and he put his arm round her with a boisterous laugh.  “Well, you must call me Captain now; or Cap, if you prefer; that’s what the boys call me.  Yes, we’ve had a meeting at the town-hall, and everybody has volunteered; and they selected me for captain, and I’m going to the war, the big war, the glorious war, the holy war ordained by the pocket Providence that blesses butchery.  Come along; let’s tell the whole family about it.  Call them from their downy beds, father, mother, Aunt Hitty, and all the folks!”

But when they mounted the veranda steps he did not wait for a larger audience; he poured the story out upon Editha alone.

“There was a lot of speaking, and then some of the fools set up a shout for me.  It was all going one way, and I thought it would be a good joke to sprinkle a little cold water on them.  But you can’t do that with a crowd that adores you.  The first thing I knew I was sprinkling hell-fire on them.  ‘Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.’  That was the style.  Now that it had come to the fight, there were no two parties; there was one country, and the thing was to fight to a finish as quick as possible.  I suggested volunteering then and there, and I wrote my name first of all on the roster.  Then they elected me—­that’s all.  I wish I had some ice-water.”