Such is the price of victory and the cost of
war--death, perhaps, in some terrible form, but bah! away with such
thoughts, to-morrow there is love and life and Zoe!
* * * * *
Once more it is night, still the guns rumble on the same old dismal
tones, and as it is raining now it must be getting bad up at the front.
Except for the rain it might have been last night, but much has
happened to me in the meanwhile.
To-day in the forest by Ruysslede I found that I loved Zoe, loved her
as I have never yet loved woman, loved her with my soul and all that is
me.
The day was gloriously fine when we started, and an hour's run took us
to the forest. We left the car at an inn and wandered down one of the
glades.
I carried the basket and we strolled on and on until we found a
suitable place deep in the heart of the forest.
I have the sailor's love for woods, for their depths, their shadows,
their mysteries, which are so vivid a contrast to the monotony of the
sea, with the everlasting circle of the horizon and the half-bowl of
the heavens above.
In the forest to-day, though the leaves had turned to gold and red and
brown, the beeches were still well covered, and overhead we were tented
with a russet canopy.
I say, at last we found a spot, or rather Zoe, who, with girlish
pleasure in the adventure, had run ahead, called to me, and as I write
I seem to hear the echoes of "Karl! Karl!" which rang through the wood.
When I came up to her she proudly pointed to the place she had found.
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