"That would be easier said than done," replied Bob, smiling at her school-girl fashion of settling European difficulties. "You see, directly Austria tried to do this, Russia would step in. Russia is practically under a contract to protect the Servians, and to help them in need. Russia, which is a great Slav Empire, wouldn't stand by and see Austria swallow up Slav Servia."

"And then there might be a war between Russia and Austria? And Russia, with her countless hordes of men, would crush Austria?"

"That wouldn't suit Germany's book," was Bob's reply. "You see, there is a close alliance between Austria and Germany, and Germany wouldn't allow Austria to be put under."

"Oh, it would be horrible!" gasped the girl. "But there, we won't talk about it any more. It can't affect us, can it? England has nothing to do with Servians murdering an Austrian Archduke. I'm awfully sorry for the poor old Austrian Emperor, but--but----"

"It can't affect us, or our happiness," cried Bob, taking her outstretched hand. "No, thank G.o.d! but I say, Nancy, this is an awful commentary on what we were saying just now, isn't it? It makes me more than ever determined to throw myself into a movement that shall make war impossible. But oh, my dear girl, I do wish you'd let me speak to your father to-night! I want my happiness a.s.sured. I want everybody to know that I've won you--that you've promised to be my wife."

A thoughtful look came into her eyes. It might seem as though she were fighting a battle between inclination and judgment.

"No, Bob," she said at length, "it won't do. I'm sure dad wouldn't consent. The truth is----" she hesitated.

"What?" asked Bob eagerly.

"Dad's awfully fond of Captain Trevanion. I--I believe he's set his mind on it."

"On what? On your marrying him!"

"Now, don't be jealous."

"I'm not jealous. How could I be when"--he held her to him, and kissed her pa.s.sionately--"when you've told me you love me."

"He'll be terribly mad when he knows at first. You see, he's always looked on you as a--well, to put it mildly, a useless bookworm. And he likes Hector Trevanion because, although he's a fool in many things, he's a good soldier. He says he's very young for a captain, and with his name and prospects--he'll be sure to be a major and afterwards a colonel in a very short time, especially if a war breaks out. And--and he's very ambitious for me. That's why I shall have to break it to him by degrees. I shall begin by talking about your successes at Oxford, and then I shall tell him that you are going to study for the Bar, as a preliminary to going into Parliament. You are so clever, that you won't be long before you are called to the Bar, will you?"

"I'll do it in record time," cried Bob. "There are a number of dinners to eat, and certain examinations to pa.s.s; but I can manage them all right. Don't think I'm conceited, Nancy; lots of the Professors told me that the Bar exams. would be comparatively easy to me."

"Of course they will be," said Nancy confidently, "and meanwhile you could be on the look out for a const.i.tuency, couldn't you?"

"Ye-es," replied Bob doubtfully. "Of course, I'd rather get called first, but it could be managed. As it happens, I'm comfortably off, and so I need not be dependent on my profession."

"Anyhow, we must say nothing about our--our----"

"Engagement," suggested Bob, as Nancy hesitated.

"Call it what you like, but we must keep it quiet for the present, and be very circ.u.mspect and all that. So, as we've been here for quite a long while, we had better be getting home."

Bob crumpled up the newspaper and threw it over the cliff.

"It's horrible, isn't it?" she said, as they watched it falling from rock to rock until it fell into the sea; "but it can't affect us, can it, Bob?"

"No," replied Bob, "it can't affect us. Nothing shall affect us, Nancy, and nothing shall come between us. I feel as though I could do anything now, and there's nothing I won't do to win a position worthy of you. I'll work like a slave. I'll map out my programme to the minutest detail, and I'll win all along the line. Edward VII was called a peacemaker, and everybody admired him for it. But I'll do more than he ever did. Just think of it! To be known throughout the country, and throughout the world, as the man who made war on war, and made it impossible. I'll give my life to it, Nancy--my whole life!"

"And where do I come in?" she asked, with mock sorrow.

"You! You come in everywhere. You are everything. You are my love, my inspiration; but for you everything would be impossible. One more kiss, Nancy, while no one can see us."

When Bob Nancarrow returned home that night he was the happiest man in Cornwall. More than he had ever hoped for had come to pa.s.s. Nancy had promised to wait for him because she loved him. She had preferred him to all others, and sacrificed brilliant prospects because of her love for him. The sky of his life seemed cloudless. Nothing, as far as he could see, stood in the way of his attaining his highest hopes. The plan which had so suddenly been born in his mind and heart grew in attractiveness. He had the most glorious objective in the world. He saw an outlet for his energies, while the cause for which he would stand appealed to all that was n.o.blest within him.

War against war!

The thing had become a pa.s.sion with him. Here was the great work which, unknown to himself, he had all along wanted. Even when he had dreamed of becoming an Oxford Don, and of spending his life in a kind of cultured seclusion, there had always been something wanting. He had fighting blood in his veins; the old fire for which the Trelawneys had been famous had constantly made its appeal. And now Nancy had shown him how his life could be a positive one. Now he could be true to the principles which he had inherited from his father, and to which he held with strong tenacity, and at the same time satisfy his desires to partic.i.p.ate in the struggles and battles of the great world.

"A n.o.ble cause demands your zeal!"

He found himself humming the words as he turned on the lights. And he had a n.o.ble cause, the n.o.blest, the most Christlike on earth. Warfare!

Yes, in spite of his peace principles he loved warfare. Man was a fighting animal, and he was a man, every inch of him. And he was called on to fight--to fight the War-G.o.d which had lifted its head so arrogantly and brutally. But his warfare was to be for peace--the peace of the world. It was to be for man's salvation, and not for his destruction. Not for pillage, carnage, cruelty, mad hatred, overwhelming ambition, l.u.s.t for blood; but brotherhood, kindliness, love, mercy. This was the battle of the Lord; this was the cause of Christ.

In this way he could be true to his father's teaching, true to the Christianity in which he believed; but more, he could by this means make himself worthy of Nancy, and make a place in the world, in which even her father would rejoice.

His heart beat with wild joy. Even now Nancy's kisses were warm on his lips, her words of love rang in his ears.

Yes, his plan of life was plain, his work arose before him, alluring, enn.o.bling, inspiring. And Nancy loved him! What more could he desire?

He looked around the room with a long tremulous sigh of contentment.

Life was indeed beautiful, glorious. Around him were thousands of books. His father had been an omnivorous reader, and had ama.s.sed a large library. Nearly every inch of wall-s.p.a.ce was covered with book-shelves. Only one s.p.a.ce, above the mantelpiece, was uncovered, and there hung what was even dearer than the books. It was an oil painting of his father.

Robert Nancarrow looked at it long and steadily, and as he did so his eyes became moist.

"Dear old father!" he murmured; "the n.o.blest man that ever breathed."

It was a fine face he saw. Rather serious on the whole, but still with a smile lurking around the lips and shining in the eyes. The face of a good--almost a great man. No one could a.s.sociate it with meanness or impurity. An intellectual face too, with a broad forehead and large, speaking eyes. A face which suggested conscientiousness, which proclaimed the fact that its owner must do whatever conscience told him to do, no matter what it might cost.

It seemed to Bob as he looked that his father smiled on him.

"Yes, it is what he would most desire," reflected the young fellow.

"It was the pa.s.sion of his life, and it shall be mine."

He went to a bookcase, and took therefrom a small volume. It was ent.i.tled _Thoughts on the Boer War_, by Robert Nancarrow, M.D.

The young man opened it, and began to read; but his mind was too full of his plans to concentrate his attention.

"Father would love Nancy," he reflected, and then he arose from his chair and went close to the picture. "He does love her," he reflected.

"He is alive, he knows, and he is pleased. I feel as though he were here now, and giving me his blessing on my love, and on my work."

The house was very silent. Every one had long since gone to bed, and not a sound was to be heard. The night was almost windless too, and not even the murmur of the waves in the Bay of St. Ia, which could be faintly heard outside, reached him. He felt himself alone with his father.

"Good night, father," he said aloud, still looking the picture. "I love her as my life, and I am very happy. I have your blessing, haven't I?"

Again it seemed to him that his father smiled on him. He was sure he saw the quiet humour in his eyes which he remembered so well.

Bob was in a strange humour that night. The day had been eventful beyond all the days of his life. He had entered into a happiness of which he had never dreamed before; he had seen visions of the future of which hitherto he had been blind. He had been carried away by his love and his enthusiasm; his nature had been moved to its depths. Now the memory of it all, the quietness of the house, caused thoughts to come to his mind, and moved him to feelings to which he had been a stranger.

"It's what you would wish me to do, father, isn't it?" he still continued aloud. "To go into Parliament, and then work and fight for the peace of the world? To destroy the ghastly nightmare of war, to fight against the War-G.o.d, to put an end to this eternal making of implements of death. I have your consent, and your blessing, haven't I?"

Yes, he was sure his father was smiling on him, and giving him his blessing. There was something sacred, holy, in the thought.

He turned out the lights, but the beams of the moon streamed through the window, and rested on the picture.