"Den, don't you want to go home?"
Did he not want it? The handsome bronzed face, which had of late grown thinner than its wont, looked quietly at Roy. "Sometimes I would give my right hand to get away," he confessed. "Yes, I want it—more than you can know, perhaps. But these things do not come of themselves. They are allowed, for some good purpose."
"You don't mean that God wants Napoleon to behave in such a way?"
"No; certainly not. But it may be His will that you and I should have this opportunity to be patient and brave. It's a great trouble for both of us—no use to deny that. And to be brave in captivity is much harder than to be brave in fighting. But it will come to an end in time. Napoleon will not be allowed to go on always unchecked."
"I suppose he is angry because he can't make England do whatever he chooses, as he makes Germany and Prussia and Austria and all the other countries. And so he punishes us."
"That may be it. My own belief is that Britain is called upon to save all Europe from a hopeless thraldom, and that in time we shall see her successful. But we may have to wait a while first. Only, while we wait, we mustn't forget that God really is over all. He sometimes lets bad men have their way for a time, but in the end truth and justice and freedom will conquer."
"I don't think mamma is sorry that I'm going to Verdun," Roy said.
"She is sorry for your sake, not for her own. That is much what I feel about it."
Roy looked up quickly.
"Would you have been sorry? Would you have missed me?"