Bob conjured up the scene. He fancied he saw Trevanion, in his uniform, speaking in a soldier-like fashion about the duty of defending his country, the crowd cheering wildly, while Nancy, carried away by her admiration of the man who accorded with her ideals of how an Englishman should act, would yield to the gallant soldier the love for which he would give his life.
That night, with a kind of savage love for self-torture, Bob made his way to the Public Hall. He got there half an hour before the announced time, and found the place nearly full. All round the walls hung bunting, characteristic of the county. The Cornish Coat of Arms hung over the chairman's table, while the chorus of the old Cornish song:
And shall they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen,
And shall Trelawney die?
Then twenty thousand Cornishmen
Will know the reason why.
was printed in large letters, and hung in a prominent place. At the back of the platform some one had written, "Cornwall has never failed her country yet. Shall she be unworthy of the names of Trelawney, Killigrew, Boscawen, Carew, Tresize, and Trevanion? Never!"
To Bob's chagrin he was led to a seat close to the platform. Evidently the man who took him there, wanted him, as the son of one who had been, perhaps, the most respected man in the town, to have a place of honour.
In a few minutes the audience was singing patriotic songs. It was true that there was something jingoistic about them, nevertheless Bob's heart thrilled. Perhaps there are no people in the whole country whose voices are sweeter than those of the dwellers in our most Western county. His heart caught fire as he listened. Yes, there was something in fighting for home and fatherland, something sublime in dying for a noble cause. Then again the horror of war, the brutal butchery, the senseless hatred, the welter of blood, the blighted lives and homes, arose before him. He knew that the meeting would have no message for him.
Precisely at the time announced the speakers appeared on the platform amidst a tumult of shouting, and then Bob's heart gave a great leap, for he saw that Nancy Tresize, with several other ladies, followed the old Admiral. In spite of himself his eyes were drawn towards her as if by a magnet. He tried to look away from her, but could not, and then, when he least expected it, her gaze caught his. It was only for a second, but that second plunged him into the deepest darkness. He saw the flush that mounted to her cheeks, the smile of derision that passed her lips, and the look of scorn and contempt that expressed itself on her face. He knew then what Nancy felt about him, and that he had lost her—lost her for ever.
I am not going to try to describe the speeches at length—there is no need. The Admiral spoke in a bluff, hearty way about the causes which led up to the war, and then told of the part which the county had always played, and of her great names which had gone down to history. Spoke, too, of the need of men at the present time, and then made his appeal.
After him came the Member for St. Ia. He evidently tried to speak as a statesman on the question. He was listened to respectfully, but without enthusiasm. He was little fitted to explain the intricacies of international politics. Bob felt, during the whole time he was speaking, that he did not know the A.B.C. of his subject, felt that if he had been in his place he would have made a far stronger case for the country and the cause.
Then some one got up and recited some doggerel by a London journalist which was said to be very popular in various parts of the country, but which did not appeal to our Cornish boys at all.