o witness
to-morrow's dawn. We cannot fail. He has built too stoutly and too
surely for that. Woe to the Iron Heel! Soon shall it be thrust back from
off prostrate humanity. When the word goes forth, the labor hosts of all
the world shall rise. There has been nothing like it in the history of
the world. The solidarity of labor is assured, and for the first time
will there be an international revolution wide as the world is wide.*

* The Second Revolt was truly international. It was a
colossal plan--too colossal to be wrought by the genius of
one man alone. Labor, in all the oligarchies of the world,
was prepared to rise at the signal. Germany, Italy, France,
and all Australasia were labor countries--socialist states.
They were ready to lend aid to the revolution. Gallantly
they did; and it was for this reason, when the Second Revolt
was crushed, that they, too, were crushed by the united
oligarchies of the world, their socialist governments being
replaced by oligarchical governments.

You see, I am full of what is impending. I have lived it day and night
utterly and for so long that it is ever present in my mind. For that
matter, I cannot think of my husband without thinking of it. He was the
soul of it, and how can I possibly separate the two in thought?

As I have said, there is much light that I alone can throw upon his
character. It is well known that he toiled hard for liberty and suffered
sore. How hard he toiled and how greatly he suffered, I well know; for
I have been with him during these twenty anxious years and I know his
patience, his untiring effort, his infinite devotion to the Cause for
which, only two months gone, he laid down his life.

I shall try to write simply and to tell here how Ernest Everhard entered
my life--how I first met him, how he grew until I became a part of him,
and the tremendous changes he wrought in my life. In this way may you
look at him through my eyes and learn him as I learned him--in all save
the things too secret and sweet for me to tell.

It was in February, 1912, that I first met him, when, as a guest of my
father's* at dinner, he came to our house in Berkeley. I cannot say that
my very first impression of him was favorable. He was one of many at
dinner, and in the drawing-room where we gathered and waited for all
to arrive, he made a rather incongruous appearance. It was "preacher's
night," as my father privately cal