uch a blow as when I drove
up to 10 Clarges, and found you gone! IT WAS NOBODY'S FAULT! YOU WERE
SO RIGHT to go; and I COULD NOT COME. I am so distressed lest it was
my cable saying I could not get back that decided you to go before the
fifth. But Ashford says it was not. He tells me the cable came at
THREE in the morning and that you had arranged to be called at
six-thirty in order to leave for Scotland. So, for sending that cable
I need not blame myself too much. I sent you so many messages I do not
know which got through. But I think it must have been one saying I
could not return in time to see you before the fifth. THEN, no trains
were running. The very NEXT DAY the Germans started a troop train, and
I took it. The reason I could not come by automobile was because I had
a falling out with the "mad dogs" and they would not give me a pass.
So Evans, with whom I was to motor to Holland, got through Friday
afternoon and sent the cable. As soon as I reached Holland, I cabled I
was coming and kept on telegraphing every step of the journey, which
lasted three days.

I telegraphed last from Folkestone; even telling you what to have for
my supper. As you directed, Ashford opened the cables, and when I
drove up, he was at the door in tears. He had made a light in your
rooms and, of course, as I looked up I thought you still were in them.
When they told me I was a day late, I cried, too. It was the bitterest
disappointment I ever knew. I had taken the very first train out of
Brussels, the one with the wounded, and for three days had been having
one hell of a time. But I kept thinking of seeing you, and hearing
your dear voice. So the trip did not matter. I was only thinking of
SEEING YOU, and thanking God I was shut of the dirty Germans. We had
nothing to eat, and we slept on the floor of the train, the Germans
kept us locked in, and, all through even Holland, we were under arrest.
But nothing mattered, because I was so happy at thought of meeting you.
As I said neither of us was at fault. You just HAD to go, and I could
NOT COME. But, you can feel how I felt to learn you were at sea.

I was so glad I could use your old rooms. I went to the table where
you used to write and was so glad I could at least be as near to you as
that. No other place in London could have held me that night. Not
Buckingham Palace. I found little things you had left. I loved even
the funny pictures on the wall because we had