“That means another war some day, doesn’t it?” “It does, and when that day comes God help the poor old world and everything in it.” In her excited mood Mona thinks she knows better, but she cannot speak of that yet; and Oskar, too, as if trying to gain time, goes on talking. “The world had its great chance at the end of the war, Mona, but then came those damnable old men with their conferences making a peace that was worse than the war itself. And now the churches--look at the churches who have been told to teach that there’s no peace under the soldier’s sword, standing by while the world is rushing on to destruction! What snares! What hypocrisy! What spiritual harlotry! Why don’t they burn down their altars and shut their doors and be honest?... But that is not what I came to say--to tell you.” “What is, Oskar?” He hesitates for a moment, and then in a flood of words he says: “I don’t want to frighten you, Mona. You must not let me frighten you. I should never forgive myself if.... But you are all I have now, and ... I can’t go away and leave you behind me.... I simply can’t.... It’s impossible, quite impossible.” “But if they force you, Oskar?” Oskar laughs again--it is wild laughter. “Force me? Nobody can be forced if only he has courage.” “Courage?” “Yes, courage.... Don’t you see what I’ve come to tell you, Mona? Come, don’t you? When the idea came to me first I thought you might be afraid and perhaps faint and even try to turn me from my purpose, so I made up my mind to say nothing. But when the order came to-night I said to myself, ‘No, she’s not like some women. She’s brave; she’ll see there’s nothing else for it.’” Mona sees what is coming, and her heart is throbbing hard, but she says: “Tell me. It’s better that I should know, Oskar.” With that he gets closer to her and speaks in a whisper, as if afraid the very walls may hear: “When they look for me in the morning I shall be gone.... Don’t you understand me now?--gone! So I’ve come to-night to say farewell. We are meeting for the last time, Mona.” He looks at her, thinking she will cry out, perhaps scream, but her eyes are shining. All the pain in the thought of their parting has passed away with a mighty rushing. “Oskar,” she says, “don’t you think it would be just as hard for me ... to stay here after you were ... gone?” The tears are in Oskar’s eyes now, for flesh is weak and his wild heart is softening. “What would become of me without you, Oskar?” “Don’t say that, Mona.” “But if ... if it’s inevitable that you should go, if there is nothing else for it, can’t we ... can’t we go _together_?” “Together?” He is looking searchingly into her shining face. “Do you mean ...?” She takes his hand. It is trembling. Her own is trembling also. “Oskar, do you remember the fight of the bulls on the cliff-head?” “When the old ones wouldn’t let the young one live, and he had to....”