Mona takes the paper. It is in English, and, standing by the lamp, she begins to read it aloud: “_American Consulate_--_Mannheim_.” “That’s my home--Mannheim.” “_I regret to inform you...._” “Don’t! Don’t!” Mona reads the rest of the letter to herself. It is from the American Consul, and tells Oskar that in a British air raid in the middle of the night the house in which his mother had lived with his sister had been struck by a bomb, and the wing in which his sister slept had been utterly destroyed. Mona makes a cry and involuntarily reads aloud again: “_The child is missing and it is believed...._” “Don’t! Don’t!” There is silence between them for a moment, only broken by Oskar’s low sobs and Mona’s quick breathing. “Your sister?” “Yes, I wanted to tell you about her that night of....” “I know,” says Mona. With a stab of remorse the memory of what she had said has come back to her. “Only ten. Such a sweet little thing--the sweetest darling in the world. Used to write every week and send me her sketches. My father died when she was a baby, and since then she has looked on me as father and brother too. And now.... Oh, it is too stupid! It is too stupid!” Mona cannot speak, and he goes on saying: “It is too stupid. It is too stupid!” He drops his head into his hands, and Mona sees the tears oozing out between his fingers. “Mignon! My little Mignon!” Still Mona does not utter a word, and at last he gets up and says: “I had to tell you. There was no one else.” His face is broken up and he is turning to go. Mona can bear no more. By a swift, irresistible, unconquerable, almighty impulse she flings her arms about his neck. Meantime, the old man upstairs had been awakened by the bands. He had raised himself in bed to listen. The carols out there in the night touched him at first, but after a while they made him feel still more bitter. He was thinking about Robbie. What was the good of singing about peace in the midst of war? Peace? There would be no peace until the righteous God, with His mighty hand and outstretched arm, had hewn His enemies to pieces! He heard a heavy thud at the door downstairs, and then a man’s voice, with Mona’s, in the kitchen. His first thought was of “The Waits,” for which Manx girls stayed up on Christmas Eve, and then a blacker thought came to him. He struggled out of bed, pulled on his dressing-gown, fumbled for his walking-stick, and made for the stairs. It was dark on the landing, but there was light below coming from the kitchen, and, making a great effort, he staggered down. How long Mona and Oskar were in each other’s arms they did not know. It might have been only for a moment. But all at once they became aware of a shuffling step behind them. Mona turns to look. Her father is on the threshold. The old man’s face is ghastly. His eyes blaze, his mouth is open and his lips quiver, as if he is struggling for breath and voice. At length both come, and he falls on Mona with fearful cries.