T is nearly midnight. I shall mail this letter to you--post it, I should say, since I am in London--and then I shall wait in my dim rooms for the dawn. And as I wait I shall be thinking not always of the captain, or his brother, or Hughes, or Limehouse and Enwright, but often--oh, very often--of you. In my last letter I scoffed at the idea of a great war. But when we came back from Limehouse to-night the papers told us that the Kaiser had signed the order to mobilize. Austria in; Serbia in; Germany, Russia and France in. Hughes tells me that England is shortly to follow, and I suppose there is no doubt of it. It is a frightful thing--this future that looms before us; and I pray that for you at least it may hold only happiness. For, my lady, when I write good night, I speak it aloud as I write; and there is in my voice more than I dare tell you of now. THE AGONY COLUMN MAN. Not unwelcome to the violet eyes of the girl from Texas were the last words of this letter, read in her room that Sunday morning. But the lines predicting England's early entrance into the war recalled t