A week later Oskar comes again. His face is thin and pinched and his eyes are bleared as from want of sleep, but his spirits are high, almost hysterical. “Mona,” he says, “I know what we have to do.” “What?” “The English may be hard and unforgiving, but the Germans are not like that.” “The Germans?” “Oh, I know my people. They may fight like fiends and demons--they do, I know they do--but when the fighting is over they are willing to be friends with their enemies.” “What are you thinking of now, Oskar?” says Mona, but she sees what is coming. “If you were willing ... if you could only find it possible to go with me to Germany....” “Germany?” Mona feels dizzy. “It’s a sin and a shame to ask you to leave your native country, Mona, but since it is turning you out, as you say....” Mona is covering her ears. “Don’t speak of it, Oskar. I can’t listen to you! It’s impossible.” Oskar is silent for a moment, then he says in a tremulous voice: “I would make it up to you, Mona. Yes, I swear to God I should make it up to you. I should dedicate every day and hour of my life to make it up to you. You should never regret it--never for one single moment.” “But how could I go....” “Just as other women are going. Lots of the men are taking their German wives back with them. Why shouldn’t I take my English wife?” “Wife?” “Certainly. The chaplain would marry us.” “The chaplain?” “Yes, in the camp chapel, late at night or early in the morning, with two of my comrades as witnesses.” “Have you spoken to him, then?” “I have, and he says that being made in a Lutheran church by a Lutheran clergyman, it would be a good marriage according to German law, so Germany would receive you.” “But where ... where should we go to?” “My mother’s first.” “Your mother’s?” “Where else? Oh, she’d love it! She’s the best mother a man ever had. Do you know, she has written to me every single week since I came here. And now she’s only living to welcome me home.” “But, Oskar, are you sure she will....” “Welcome you? Of course she will. She’s growing old, poor soul, and has been lonely since my sister’s death. After we’re married I’ll write to say I’m bringing another daughter home to love and comfort her....” “Write first, Oskar.” “As you please. It isn’t necessary, though. I know quite well what she’ll say. But even if she couldn’t welcome you for yourself--and why shouldn’t she?--she would for my sake, anyway.” “All the same, write first, Oskar.” “Very well, I will. And if her answer is all right, you’ll go?” “Ye-s.” “Heavens, how happy I am! What have I done to deserve to be so happy?” Mona watches him as he goes off, with his quick step, until he is lost in the sinister shadows cast by the big arc-lamps that cut through the night. Then she goes indoors and tries to compose herself. It takes her a long time to do so, but at length, being in bed, she remembers a beautiful thing she had read to her father in the days when he lay upstairs: