Beneath her veil her
eyes were a little misty. She saw nothing of the trimly
partitioned fields, the rolling pastoral country. Before her
vision tragedies seemed to pass,--the blood-stained paraphernalia
of the battlefield, the empty, stricken homes, the sobbing women
in black, striving to comfort their children whilst their own
hearts were breaking. When she turned away from the window, her
face was hardened. Once more she found herself almost hating the
man who was her companion. Whatever might come afterwards, at
that moment she had the sensations of a murderess.
"You may know when you sleep to-night," she exclaimed, "that you
will be the blood-guiltiest man in the world!"
"I would not dispute the title," he observed politely, "with your
friend the Hohenzollern."
"He is not my friend," she retorted, her tone vibrating with
passion. "I am a traitress in your eyes because I have received a
communication from Germany. From whom does it come, do you think?
From the Court? From the Chancellor or one of his myrmidons?
Fool! It comes from those who hate the whole military party. It
comes from the Germany whose people have been befooled and
strangled throughout the war. It comes from the people whom your
politicians have sought to reach and failed."
"The suggestion is interesting," he remarked coldly, "but
improbable."
"Do you know," she said, leaning a little forward and looking at
him fixedly, "if I were really your fiancee--worse! if I were
really your wife--I think that before long I should be a
murderess!"
"Do you dislike me as much as all that?"
"I hate you! I think you are the most pigheaded, obstinate,
self-satisfied, ignorant creature who ever ruined a great cause.
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