“O Cyril, I’m so glad it’s all over. You’ll go to England now and rest.” “For a while.” And then, “Will you marry me, Doris? Soon?” “Yes,” she said softly. “Whenever you want me.” “Here? Now?” “But, Cyril----” “There’s a parson chap about here somewhere. I saw him browsin’ in here the other day.” “Isn’t it a little----” “Say you will, there’s a dear.” “Yes, if you wish it. But----” “What?” “Clothes.” “Nonsense. You’re jolly handsome in those togs--handsome no end,” he repeated. “Marry me tomorrow, Doris. There’s a dear.” She leaned her face down upon his hand. “We’re already married, Cyril. Up there I felt it. Even death couldn’t have separated us.” “Thank God! Kiss me, Doris.” She obeyed. “I’ll see Jackson,” he whispered. “He’ll manage it. Resourceful chap, Jackson. He’ll get us a chaplain like pullin’ a rabbit out of a hat.” She laughed. “I don’t suppose I’d ever have known you, Cyril, over there in England. You always did wonderful things carelessly, Cyril.” “But not this wonderful thing----” and he kissed her. “It is a wonderful thing,” she whispered. “So wonderful that I wonder if it can be true.” “I’ll prove it to you----” But she had straightened and kissed his hand. “No more now--I mustn’t stay. I hear them in the hall.” “Tomorrow?” he asked. “Yes.” “Jackson?” “Yes.” The nurse knocked discreetly and entered. “Five minutes. I’m sorry.” “So am I,” said Hammersley, with a sigh. * * * * * Three weeks later they stood side by side at the rail of the Channel boat on the way to Ashwater Park for the parental blessing. The shores of France were already purple in the distance. They had looked upon Death with eyes that did not fear, but the sight of it together had made the bond of their fealty and tenderness the stronger. There was a sadness in his look and she knew instinctively of what he was thinking. “Germany, Cyril,” she said aloud. “I love it because a part of it is you. But I love England more, because it _is_ you.” Hammersley watched the receding shores beyond the vessel’s wake, her hand in his. “They’re followin’ false gods, Doris. Gods of steel and brass----!” “They _must_ fall, Cyril.” “They will.” And then, “But you can’t help admirin’ the beggars! Poor old Udo!” “I think about him, Cyril. Do you think he got away?” “Well, rather! I cut his bonds with a huntin’ knife before we went down.” She looked up into his face in amazement. “You dared do that?” He laughed. “You wouldn’t have let him be more generous than me.” “And he let us go?” “He didn’t think we _could_ go. He left things to Destiny.” “Good old Udo!” she repeated. And then dreamily, “Destiny! You were not meant to die, Cyril.” “Not yet.” He said slowly: “But I must go back--over there, Doris.” She shivered a little and drew closer to him. “Yes, I know,” she said. “But you’ve earned----” “I couldn’t ever earn what I’ve got,” he broke in quickly. “Nor I----”