While he was at Oxford Bob became acquainted with a Professor, named Dr. Renthall, who had been an undergraduate there with his father. Professor Renthall was also a Friend, and it was perhaps this fact that first drew them together. For while Bob did not in any way profess adherence to the Society of Friends, he greatly admired those of that persuasion. In addition to this, too, his father's influence was still strong upon him. The boy revered his father's memory, and treasured in his heart those faiths by which Dr. Nancarrow had steered his life. Indeed, during his Oxford days he often declared that the Quakers were nearer to the ideal of Christianity than any other body.
"My father was logical at all events," he often reflected, "and as a consequence his life was a benediction. On the other hand, religion among most people, whether churchmen or nonconformists, seems to mean nothing. We attend so many 'chapels' as a matter of necessity, and are glad when they are over. As to religion having any effect on our lives, it seems to be out of the question."
Dr. Renthall had a great influence over Bob. Although he was nearing fifty, he was a keen sportsman. He played a scratch game at golf, and during the cricket season he could keep his end up with the best of the younger men. This appealed to the young fellow strongly. But, more than this, he was one of the greatest authorities on history in the University. He was a saint too, although he made little profession of Christianity. He went regularly to the Meeting House, but never spoke, while his theology was of too latitudinarian a nature, to be "sound."
Robert often went to Dr. Renthall's house, and it was during his many visits that his hatred of war grew.
"War," said the Professor to him more than once, "cannot obtain 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."