d of what has taken place. One week we were
sitting idly in our boats in the bay, the next our lads had heard the
call of their country, and had hurried away in its defence. One day we
were at peace with the world, the next we were at war with one of the
greatest fighting nations in the world. At the end of July, little
knowing of the correspondence taking place between Sir Edward Grey and
the Ambassadors of Europe, we tended our flocks, prepared to garner our
harvest, and sent out our fishing-boats; at the beginning of August we
had almost forgotten these things in the wild excitement with which the
news of war filled us. Placards headed by the Royal Arms were posted
at public places, calling up Army and Navy Reserves, and fervent
appeals were made to all our boys old enough to bear arms, to bid
good-bye to home and loved ones, in order to help England to maintain
her plighted word, and support her honour.

Not that we were in a state of panic, or fear, thank God. There was
nothing of that. Neither were we in doubt as to the ultimate issue.
We believed we had right on our side, and as our forefathers had fought
in every stage of our country's history, we were prepared to fight
again. But we Cornish are a quiet, Peace-loving people, and many of us
hated, and still hate with a deadly hatred, the very thought of the
bloody welter, the awful carnage, and the untold misery and suffering
which war means.

But it is not of these things I have to write. My work is to tell the
story of a lad I know, and love; the story, too, of a maid who loved
him, and what this great war, which even yet seems only to have just
begun, has meant to them.

It was on Monday, the twenty-ninth day of June in this present year,
that Robert, or, as he is generally spoken of by his friends, Bob
Nancarrow, got out his two-seater Renaud, and prepared to drive to
Penwennack, the home of Admiral Tresize. Bob had but just "come down"
from Oxford, and was now in great good spirits at the prospect before
him.

This was scarcely to be wondered at, for Nancy Tresize had asked him to
take her to Gurnard's Head, which, as all Cornish people know, is near
to the town of St. Ia, and one of the most favoured spots in the
county. Perhaps, too, the coast scenery around Gurnard's Head is among
the finest in Cornwall, while Gurnard's Head itself, the great rock
which throws itself, grim, black, and majestic, far out into the sea,
challenges comparison