My father had a dream, and he dreamed this dream from the day Alex was born to the day they both died in each other's arms. My father dreamt that one day the Tsars would soften their heart to Poland, and raise her up from the dust to a place amongst the nations, and my father dreamt that Alexandrovitch Sbeiliez would become a leader of Poland, as his ancestors had been before him. And so my father nursed his estates and pinched and saved, in preparation for the day when his beautiful dream should come true. [Illustration: "A trapdoor near her bows fell down, the White Ensign was broken at the fore, and a 4-inch gun opened fire from the embrasure that was revealed on her side."] [ILLUSTRATION: "I sighted two convoys, but there were destroyers there...."] My poor idealistic father never realized, oh, my Karl, that when one wants a thing one must fight--to the death. Alex was the apple of his eye, but I was much loved by my mother; perhaps she dreamed a dream about me--I know not, but she determined that I should have all that was necessary. Paris, Berlin, Munich, Dresden, and a season in London, then I came home at twenty-one, perfectly educated according to the world, beautiful according to men, and dressed according to Paris. But I was only to find out how little I knew. My mother and I used to take a house in Warsaw for the season, and I met many notable men and women. In these days I, also, thought I could do something for Poland, but after two or three seasons I found that I, too, was only dreaming idle dreams. Oh! my beloved, beware of dreaming idle dreams. Listen! I once met the Prime Minister of all Russia at a reception. I captivated him, and thought, now! now! I shall do something. I sat next to him at dinner; I talked of Poland--and I knew my subject--I talked brilliantly; he listened, he hung on my words, and he, the Prime Minister of all Russia, the Tsar's right-hand man, asked me to drive with him next day in his sledge. I, an almost unknown Polish girl! When I accepted, I was in the seventh heaven of delight. Next day he called and we set forth; at a deserted spot in the woods near Warsaw he tried to kiss me--I struck him in the face with the butt of his own whip. That was why he had hung on my words, that was why he had taken me for my drive; it was my Polish body that interested _him_--not Poland. The Prime Minister of Russia was confined to his room for two days, "owing to an indisposition." How I laughed when I saw the bulletin in the paper, signed by two doctors, but it taught me a lesson; I never dreamt idle dreams again. No, I am wrong, my beloved. I dreamt an idle dream, a lovely dream about you and I. An after-the-war dream, if this war should ever end, but like other dreams it has ended--in dreams. But I must hurry, for my little watch tells me that one hour of my five has gone, and I have much to say.