"A man must pay his price, I suppose," reflected Bob. "If he does not shout with the crowd, he is despised by it. I knew that when I made up my mind, but I never thought it would be so hard. She thinks I am a coward--the cowardice would lie in doing what she wants me to do." "Well, good-bye, Captain: a fine time to you; come back safe to us. You shall have a great homecoming," shouted the Admiral. "There, another cheer, lads; he is going to fight for his country," and amidst wild shouting Trevanion entered the carriage, while only looks of derision and scornful glances were directed towards Bob. Arrived in London, Bob caught the first train for Oxford, and before it was dark entered that classic city. But it was not the Oxford he knew; an indescribable change had come over everything. When he had left it, the streets were full of undergraduates, who with merry jest and laughter had thronged the public places. The colleges then were all on the point of breaking up, and the students, wearing their short, absurd little gowns, made Oxford what it ordinarily is in term time. Now the streets were comparatively empty, many of the colleges had been taken by the Government in order to be made ready to receive wounded soldiers. There were no shouts of jubilation, for the news in the papers that day saddened the hearts of the people. The German army was steadily driving back the Allied forces towards Paris. Whispers were heard about the French Government's being shifted to Bordeaux. It seemed as though Germany were going to repeat the victories of forty-four years before, when the great _debacle_ of the French nation startled Europe. Business was at a standstill. How could the city be gay when the English soldiers were being driven back with enormous losses? "They called it a strategical retreat," Bob heard some one say as he stood outside the door of The Mitre. "I do not believe in strategical retreats--it is not like the English to run away." "Ah! but General French is only carrying out his plans," said another. "Well then, they're mighty poor plans," was the response. It seemed to Bob as though a cloud of gloom hung over this old university town. His luggage having been taken to the hotel, he found his way into the dining-room, and the waiter, whom he had known for years, came up to him and spoke familiarly. "Bad times, Mr. Nancarrow," he said. "Oxford won't be a university town now, it'll be a barracks town. I suppose you have come up for training. Yes, hosts of the young gentlemen have. We shall send out one of the finest Companies in the British Army, from Oxford. It's grand, sir, it's grand, the way you young gentlemen come up at this time. After all, your learning is no good at a time like this; it do not save the country, sir. We want fighting chaps." Bob sat down at a little table and picked up the menu.