where there is real Christianity. That is why Christianity is dying in this country. We are being more and more filled with the spirit of militarism, which means the death of religion; while every new Dreadnought, which drains the nation of its treasure, is another nail driven into the Cross of Christ."
When Bob returned to St. Ia this summer, the influence of his father's life, and his association with Dr. Renthall, had done their work. He detested militarism, and he hated the thought of war. Not that the thought of war loomed largely in the horizon. The country was at peace, and as far as he could judge no war-cloud hung in the sky.
"Ah, there she is!" Bob exclaimed, as presently the car drew up in front of the door of the great house, and a few seconds later he was talking eagerly with old Admiral Tresize, at the same time casting fervent glances towards Nancy.
It was no wonder that Bob loved her, for no fairer or better girl lived in the land of Tre, Pol, and Pen. I, who have known her all her life, can testify to this, and as she stood there that day, young, happy, and beautiful, it was no wonder that his heart burned with a great love.
"You'll almost have time for a run to Land's End," said the Admiral, looking at his watch, "and it's a glorious afternoon."
"No, we are going to picnic in the good old-fashioned way," said Nancy. "We are going to have tea on the headland, after which we are going to quarrel about things generally. We always do."
The Admiral laughed. He had not the slightest hesitation about allowing Bob and Nancy to go to Gurnard's Head together. They had been playfellows and friends all their lives, as for their being anything else, the thought never occurred to him.
"Off you go," he said, "and mind you take great care of her, Bob."
Admiral Tresize liked Bob very much, and always welcomed him to Penwennack. He remembered that he had Trelawney blood in his veins, and, although his father had been a Quaker doctor, he made no secret of the fact that he liked the boy, and he often spoke of him as a nice, quiet, clever lad.
"Fine-looking chap too," he would add; "just the build for a soldier. Six feet in his stockings, and forty inches around the chest. But there, although he has the looks of a Trelawney, he has the views of his Quaker father, and it's no use talking about it. But it's a pity all the same, a great pity."
"Well, Bob, I hear you have done great things at Oxford. Astonished the professors, swept everything before you, and all that sort of thing," said Nancy, as presently they stood on the headland.
Bob laughed, and looked rather shamefaced. He was very sensitive about his scholastic achievements, besides which he knew that Nancy thought far more of a "blue" than of a classical scholar.
"You are fairly clever, you know, Bob," and the girl laughed as she spoke.
"That does not count much with you, Nancy."
"How do you know? It doesn't follow that because I don't like dressing like a frump, and because I love hunting and dancing, that I don't admire cleverness."
"It's not that at all, Nancy. I know you admire clever people. What I meant was," and he stammered painfully, "that—that it's—a matter of indifference to you whether I, personally, am dull or clever."
"What reason have you for saying that?"
"Hundreds," replied Bob. "That is—you see, you are always laughing at my desire to be 'a fusty bookworm,' as you call it, and—and, well, all that sort of thing."
"Does that prove indifference?" she replied, and Bob thought he noted a tremor in her voice.
"You know it does," he went on, hating himself for talking in such a fashion, and yet unable to control his words. "Only yesterday, when we were talking together at tea, and some one said that I should die an old bachelor, you said that I was far more likely to die an old maid. Then, although you saw you wounded me, you went off with Captain Trevanion."
"Hadn't you, just before, refused to stay the evening, although I went out of my way to persuade you? And you gave as your excuse that you had some reading to do. As though your—your books——"
"Did you want me to stay?" asked Bob eagerly. "Nancy—did you really care?"
The girl did not speak, but turned her eyes toward the great heaving sea.
Robert's heart beat wildly as he looked at her. Never did he love her as he loved her now, never had she seemed so fair to him. It was no wonder he had fallen in love with her, for he knew that, in spite of her love of pleasure, and her sometimes flippant way of talking, she was one of the sweetest, truest girls that ever breathed. Although she might be wilful, and passionate, and sometimes seemed careless whether she gave pain or pleasure, she would give her last farthing to help any one in difficulty.
He had been surprised when she suggested his motoring her to Gurnard's Head that afternoon, little thinking that she did it to atone for what she had said two days before.
"Nancy, did you want me to stay?" he repeated. "If—if I thought you really——"
"Did it vex you that I asked Captain Trevanion to show me his new horse?" she interrupted.
The flush on her face and the tremor of her lips set his heart beating more wildly than ever. All caution went to the winds. The mad passion which for years he had been trying to crush again mastered him. He knew that his hour had come, and that he must speak and know his fate.
CHAPTER II
"Nancy," repeated Bob, "you know what is in my heart, don't you? Know
I've loved you for years?"
"You've never told me so," and there was a suggestion of a laugh in
Nancy's voice.
"Because I was afraid. How could I dare to—to tell you—when—when you never gave a sign, and when—you seemed to like others better? Others have wanted you, I know that; fellows—better looking than I, more—more attractive than I, and with far better prospects. I am not your sort of fellow—I know that; but—you've known all along that I loved you. I've been afraid to tell you so, but I would willingly shed my life's blood for you."
"I hate a coward!" cried the girl.
"Yes, I've known that; but then, how dared I speak when a fellow like Trevanion, heir to a title, and captain in a crack regiment, would give his life to get you? What chance had I?"
"Then why do you tell me this now?"
"Because I can't help myself. Because—Nancy, is there any chance? I know your father would be mad, but I wouldn't mind that a bit. Nancy, is there any hope for me?"
Again the girl's lips became tremulous as she looked at the waves lashing themselves to foam on the great black rocks, while the sea-birds soared overhead. It was easy to see she was greatly moved, although it was her nature to hide her feelings.
"I don't know, Bob."
It did not seem like Nancy's voice at all. It was almost hoarse, and she had a difficulty
