d all my senses, for
some betrayal of that impending storm. Oh, that it may not be premature!
That it may not be premature!*

* The Second Revolt was largely the work of Ernest Everhard,
though he cooperated, of course, with the European leaders.
The capture and secret execution of Everhard was the great
event of the spring of 1932 A.D. Yet so thoroughly had he
prepared for the revolt, that his fellow-conspirators were
able, with little confusion or delay, to carry out his
plans. It was after Everhard's execution that his wife went
to Wake Robin Lodge, a small bungalow in the Sonoma Hills of
California.

Small wonder that I am restless. I think, and think, and I cannot
cease from thinking. I have been in the thick of life so long that I
am oppressed by the peace and quiet, and I cannot forbear from dwelling
upon that mad maelstrom of death and destruction so soon to burst forth.
In my ears are the cries of the stricken; and I can see, as I have
seen in the past,* all the marring and mangling of the sweet, beautiful
flesh, and the souls torn with violence from proud bodies and hurled to
God. Thus do we poor humans attain our ends, striving through carnage
and destruction to bring lasting peace and happiness upon the earth.

* Without doubt she here refers to the Chicago Commune.

And then I am lonely. When I do not think of what is to come, I think of
what has been and is no more--my Eagle, beating with tireless wings the
void, soaring toward what was ever his sun, the flaming ideal of human
freedom. I cannot sit idly by and wait the great event that is his
making, though he is not here to see. He devoted all the years of his
manhood to it, and for it he gave his life. It is his handiwork. He made
it.*

* With all respect to Avis Everhard, it must be pointed out
that Everhard was but one of many able leaders who planned
the Second Revolt. And we to-day, looking back across the
centuries, can safely say that even had he lived, the Second
Revolt would not have been less calamitous in its outcome
than it was.

And so it is, in this anxious time of waiting, that I shall write of
my husband. There is much light that I alone of all persons living can
throw upon his character, and so noble a character cannot be blazoned
forth too brightly. His was a great soul, and, when my love grows
unselfish, my chiefest regret is that he is not here t