"I do," I replied. "I am not sure that war is not inevitable. Germany has been hungering for war for years, and she can place at least eight million men in the field, armed as never a nation was armed before."

"Oh, I have no fear about the Empire," he said. "The British Empire is as firm as a rock, and as safe as Gibraltar."

"We shall have to utilize every pound of power we have if it remains safe."

"Nonsense! nonsense!" he replied impatiently; and I could see he regarded my opinion as of very little value.

"Where's Hugh?" he went on. "Late again, I suppose."

Hugh entered the room as he spoke, and behind him came his mother. A few minutes later we found our way into the dining-room. Hugh was full of the news which had that day been recorded in the newspapers.

"It appears that war is certain," said Hugh. "You were right, Erskine, in what you said the last time you were here. It is evident that the Germans mean war, and are forcing it. They still hope that we won't come in, in which case they think they will soon be able to settle with France on the one hand and Russia on the other."

"Of course we shan't come in," replied Mr. Lethbridge; "it would be a crime if we did. Besides, it would be bad policy. We should be missing the opportunity the war would give us. If Germany went to war with France and Russia, her trade, for the time, would be stagnated, and we should be able to get it. If we get embroiled, America will steal the trade of the world."

"I have been to Plymouth to-day," said Hugh, "and, as luck would have it, I met with a man who is in the know. He says he knows for a fact that Germany means to fight us, that if we do not come in now she will simply force a war on us in two or three years' time, and then she will smash us."

"Nonsense! nonsense!"

"He is a great believer in what Lord Roberts says," went on Hugh. "He believes that every man in the country ought to have been trained to defend the country."

"And then we should have become a military nation," was Mr. Lethbridge's reply. "No, no, that won't do, and I simply can't believe what the papers say."

"Anyhow, our fleet is mobilized," said Hugh, "and I hear that the Territorials are being called up. But that is nothing. Our Army is a mere bagatelle. It is on the board that a million men will be called for. Some say there is going to be conscription."

I will not record anything further that took place that night, for, truth to tell, I felt anything but comfortable. It was soon evident that Mr. Lethbridge and his son were entirely antagonistic, and, as a consequence, a strained feeling existed. Indeed, I was glad when the time came for me to return home, and but for the few minutes' chat I had with Isabella Lethbridge, I should have wished I had not accepted the invitation. There could be no doubt about it that Mr. Lethbridge was in a very bad temper. I imagined that he had lost a lot of money, and he saw the possibility of losing more. The fact, too, that Hugh, his only son, was not interested in his schemes, angered him.

"I say, Erskine," said Hugh, just before my leaving the house, "you have no objection to my bringing Mary Treleaven over to see you to-morrow night? I want you to know her."

"I shall be delighted," was my reply. "But do you think you are wise in opposing your father?"

"How can I help opposing him?" asked Hugh. "I am of age, and I have my own life to live. She is the only girl in the world to me, and I am not going to live in misery because of the pater's fads."

As I left I had a few seconds alone with Isabella Lethbridge.

"You have been bored to death, Mr. Erskine," she said. "No, don't try to deny it. You have played your part very well, but your boredom is written on your face. I don't wonder at it."

"Then I apologize for an unforgetable breach of good manners. But did I seem bored when I was talking to you?"

"No, you did not; but please, Mr. Erskine, don't go away with a false impression about me."

"I hope it is not false," I said, "for it is a very pleasant one."

"That is awfully poor," she replied, "and certainly it is not worthy of you." And then she flashed a look into my eyes which, I must confess, set my heart beating violently. "Perhaps the next time you come, Mr.

Erskine, we may have pleasanter things to talk about."

I went home feeling that my evening had been ill-spent, and yet I was not sure. I felt somehow that forces were at work in my life which were going to make a change in me. Why, I did not know. It is said that when people are near death, the horizon of their vision becomes widened, that the barriers which have hitherto bounded their sight break down. Was that so with me? I did not know why it was, but I felt as though I were on the brink of some discovery. I had no reason for this. My thoughts were rather intuitional than logical.

When I reached my little home I reflected upon what had taken place. I tried to gather up the impressions which had been made upon me since I had been in St. Issey. I was obliged to confess, too, that Isabella Lethbridge was right in many of the things she had said. I had come to Cornwall, supposed to be a religious county, and yet, as far as I could see, the religion of both Church and Chapel was something that existed only on the surface. There was very little that went down to the depths of life. I had been to Chapel several times since the service I have described. I had also been repeatedly to the Parish Church, but I never found the thing I wanted. The note of conviction, of reality, was always wanting. The people were so awfully comfortable, so completely self-satisfied; the life of every one seemed to be laid over with a thick covering of materialism. There was no general doubt about spiritual things, but there was a lack of consciousness. Men and women appeared to be careless about what they pretended to accept. I discovered, too, that people went to Church and to Chapel rather as a matter of form and custom than because they entered into communion with the Unseen and the Eternal.

Next evening Hugh Lethbridge brought Mary Treleaven to see me, and directly we met I did not wonder at the young fellow's determination. If I have portrayed his character correctly, I have shown him to be a simple-minded, impulsive lad, who cared little for rank or riches; one who obeyed the promptings of his heart, rather than the findings of his reason. No one could a.s.sociate Hugh with Mr. Worldly Wiseman, and surely Mary Treleaven was a fit mate for such a man. As far as I can judge, she was about twenty years of age, unsophisticated and true-hearted. That she almost worshipped Hugh was evident, and that she stood in awe of his father was just as apparent. I judged, too, that Hugh had been very enthusiastic in his praises about me, for she seemed to regard me, comparative stranger though I was, as a very dear friend of her lover, and when for a few minutes Hugh left us together, she opened her heart to me.

"You know, Mr. Erskine," she said simply, "I know that as far as money and position and all that sort of thing goes, I am not Hugh's equal. My father is only a tenant farmer, and I am afraid they up at Trecarrel think that I just look on him as a good catch; but really, Mr. Erskine, it is not that at all. I almost hope they won't give him any money, and I wish, oh, I wish he was only just a simple farmer like my father! I don't care a bit about the money."

"I am quite sure you don't," I said. "You care only for Hugh."

"Oh, you see that, don't you?"

"Indeed I do," I replied.

"Do you know," she went on, as artlessly as a child, "that I have prayed about it for hours. I thought it my duty to give him up; indeed, I have offered to do so more than once, but Hugh won't hear of it. But, after all, why should I, Mr. Erskine? I love him and he loves me, and I am not afraid to work for him. Why, only give me a chance, and I will work my fingers to the bone for him," and the tears started to her eyes.

I loved to hear her talk. She had that peculiar, soft intonation, common to the fairly-well-educated people in Cornwall. She spoke perfectly correctly, but the Cornish accent, which I had learnt to love--that peculiar, sing-song lilt--was manifest in every sentence she uttered.

"Do you know, Mr. Erskine," she went on, "I have been up to see Mrs.

Lethbridge?"

"Oh!" I said; "and did you have a reason for doing that?"

"Yes," she said. "I thought it right just to let her know what I felt.

Hugh is talking about emigrating to Canada, and I am sure that if he went he would succeed there, and I am willing to wait five, ten years; it doesn't matter how long. You see, Mr. Erskine, I never loved any one else."

"And what did Mrs. Lethbridge say to you?"

"Oh, at first she didn't seem to like me, and, as I thought, was angry; but after a bit she got quite pleasant, and Hugh says that she has some money of her own, and that she is willing to give it to him, so that he can start a small farm of his own. You think it would be right, don't you?"

"Think what would be right?" I asked.

"For him to go against his father, and take it. It isn't as though I wanted Hugh for his money, Mr. Erskine, I only want him for himself, and he wants me."

"I am sure that your motives are perfectly pure," was my reply, "but you must remember that Hugh is his father's only son, and it is a very grave thing for a boy to disobey his father's wishes."

"Yes, I know, and that is what has made me so miserable. We should have been married before now but for that. I am so glad, Mr. Erskine, that you don't think badly about me."

"Think badly about you?" I said, with a laugh. "That would be impossible. I only congratulate Hugh on his good luck, and I jolly well wish I had his chance."

"Now you are laughing at me."

"Good gracious! No, I am not laughing at you." And I suppose I sighed, for she looked at me curiously.

"Oh, forgive me, Mr. Erskine. I did not think! Hugh has told me all about you. Perhaps it isn't as bad as you believe."

"Well, it is no use worrying," I replied, "and, believe me, I am awfully glad to have met you. Ah, here is Hugh coming."

"You don't advise me to give him up, do you?"

"No, of course not!" I said; and I meant it, for this dark-haired, soft-eyed girl had made a strong appeal to me, and I had been perfectly sincere when I said that I envied Hugh Lethbridge. What, after all, were rank and position? What was anything compared with the love of a pure girl like that, and I, whose death-warrant was written, felt a great pain in my heart, as I reflected that the love of such a girl would never be known to me, that I should die in ignorance of what it could mean.