This voyage will be good for me. The hard, incessant objective life, the physical life of a soldier, somehow comes to a halt on board ship. And every hour now is immeasurable for me. Whatever the mystery of life, of death, of what drives me, of why I cannot help fight the demon in me, of this thing called war--the certainty is that these dark, strange nights on the sea have given me a hope and faith that the truth is not utterly unattainable. _Sunday._ We're in the danger zone now, with destroyers around us and a cruiser ahead. I am all eyes and ears. I lose sleep at night from thinking so hard. The ship doctor stopped me the other day--studied my face. Then he said: "You're too intense. You think too hard.... Are you afraid?" And I laughed in his face. "Absolutely no!" I told him. "Then forget--and mix with the boys. Play--cut up--fight--do anything but _think!_" That doctor is a good chap, but he doesn't figure Kurt Dorn if he imagines the Germans can kill me by making me think. We're nearing France now, and the very air is charged. An aeroplane came out to meet us--welcome us, I guess, and it flew low. The soldiers went wild. I never had such a thrill. That air game would just suit me, if I were fitted for it. But I'm no mechanic. Besides, I'm too big and heavy. My place will be in the front line with a bayonet. Strange how a bayonet fascinates me! They say we can't write home anything about the war. I'll write you something, whenever I can. Don't be unhappy if you do not hear often--or if my letters cease to come. My heart and my mind are full of you. Whatever comes to me--the training over here--the going to the trenches--the fighting--I shall be safe if only I can remember you. With love, Kurt. Lenore carried that letter in her bosom when she went out to walk in the fields, to go over the old ground she and Kurt had trod hand in hand. From the stone seat above the brook she watched the sunset. All was still except the murmur of the running water, and somehow she could not long bear that. As the light began to shade on the slopes, she faced them, feeling, as always, a strength come to her from their familiar lines. Twilight found her high above the ranch, and absolutely alone. She would have this lonely hour, and then, all her mind and energy must go to what she knew was imperative duty. She would work to the limit of her endurance. It was an autumn twilight, with a cool wind, gray sky, and sad, barren slopes. The fertile valley seemed half obscured in melancholy haze, and over toward the dim hills beyond night had already fallen. No stars, no moon, no afterglow of sunset illumined the grayness that in this hour seemed prophetic of Lenore's future. "'Safe!' he said. 'I shall be safe if only I can remember you,'" she whispered to herself, wonderingly. "What did he mean?"