It was too good to be true—and yet there it was in his hand—a letter from Virginia!
He waved to the chauffeur:
“To Babylon—headquarters—third reserves—”
The machine swept down the white smooth turnpike and he settled into his seat still holding the precious message unopened.
He broke the seal at last and read through dimmed eyes:
“Come to me at the earliest possible moment. I have much to tell you. I can’t write—”
There was no formal address. There was no name signed. He kissed the delicately lined words and placed the note in his inside pocket.
What did the foolish happiness in his soul mean? Could fate mock him with an hour’s joy and send him to his death tomorrow? He would ride where men were falling like leaves before the sun should set—there could be no doubt of that. He shut his eyes and could see only the face of the woman he loved. He wondered what she would say? He wondered if she would make him ask her forgiveness for the wrong she herself had done, woman-like?
He would be afraid to kiss her again—Nonsense! She couldn’t refuse her lips if she loved. He’d risk it again if he died for it.
He delivered his orders and turned without delay for the Holland homestead. The flowers were in glorious bloom again.