I also know of your efforts with the Governor. I hoped nothing from him, but what you did has made me ready to die; I tremble lest you are compromised. If only I could feel absolutely certain that I have not dragged you down in my ruin I should face the rifles with a smile. For my sake be careful, Karl. When it is all over, cause a few little flowers to cover my resting-place, if this is permitted for a spy. Order them, do not place them yourself; you _must not_ be compromised. I have told my story, and the end is very near. What else is there to say? Mere words are empty husks when I try to express my thoughts of you. Do not sorrow for your Zoe, to whom you have given such happiness. I am not afraid to die and cross into the unknown, which, however terrible it is, cannot be much worse than this awful war. Karl! Karl! how I long to kiss you and feel your strong arms crushing the breath from this body of mine which has caused so much sorrow. Oh, Mother Mary, support me in this hour of trial. I cannot leave you! May the Saints guard you and keep you through all the perils of war, and grant that we meet again in the perfect peace of eternity. For ever, Your devoted and adoring ZOE. _Karl's Diary resumed._ She is dead! They have killed her, my Zoe, my adorable darling, and I am still alive--under close arrest. Perhaps they will shoot me too, in their insatiable thirst for blood. Oh! if they would! Perhaps, my Zoe, if I could only die and leave this useless world behind, I might find you in the mysterious regions where your spirit now dwells. Oh! is it well with you, Zoe? Give me a sign--a little sign--that all is well. I have knelt in prayer and asked for a sign, but nothing comes--all is a blank, forbidding and mysterious. Is God angry with us, my Zoe, that we sinned before Him? Surely, surely He understands. He must have mercy on me if He is going to make me go on living. If this is my punishment, I can bear it; I will live without you happily if only I may know that all is well with you. * * * * * Your letter, Zoe! Can you read these words as I write; can you sense my thoughts? Speak! Ah! I thought I heard your voice, and it was only the laughter of a woman in the street. Your letter has filled me with joy and sorrow. I read and re-read the wonderful words in which you say you loved me from the beginning, but when you plead that I shall not turn in loathing from your memory--with these words you smash me to the ground. Most glorious woman, I never loved you so well and so passionately as the day you stood at the trial, ringed round with the wolves, the clever lawyers, the stolid witnesses, the ponderous books, the cynical air of religious solemnity with which the machinery of the law thinly cloaks its lust for blood--for a life.