Through the long haze of misted sea-miles and the
smoke of land-miles she perceived that brown line of ours, and knew it
stood there that Freedom, and the Nation itself, might not perish from
the earth.
And so, a week later, she went home, and came nervously to Ramsey's
mother and found how to direct the letter she wanted to write. He was in
France.
As the old phrase went, she poured out her heart. It seems to apply to
her letter.
She wrote:
Don't misunderstand me. I felt that my bitter speech to you had driven
you to take the step you did. I felt that I had sent you to be killed,
and that I ought to be killed for doing it, but I knew that you had
other motives, too. I knew, of course, that you thought of the country
more than you did of me, or of any mad thing I would say--but I thought
that what I said might have been the prompting thing, the word that
threw you into it so hastily and before you were ready, perhaps. I
dreaded to bear that terrible responsibility. I hope you understand.
My great mistake has been--I thought I sas so "logical"--it's been in
my starting everything with a thought I'd never proven; that war is the
worst thing, and all other evils were lesser.
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