At Loves Cost | Page 7

her appearance. It was quite unlike the conventional girl's voice; there rang in it the freedom of the lonely valley, the towering hills, the freedom and unconventionality of the girl's own figure and face and wind-tossed hair; and in it was a note of dignity, of independence, and of a pride which was too proud for defiance. In its way the voice was as remarkable as the beauty of the face, the soft fire of the dark eyes.
"I had no idea it was so far," said Stafford; "I must have wandered away from the place. I started fishing on the road down below, and haven't noticed the distance. Will you tell me the name of this place?"
"Herondale," she replied.
"Thank you," said Stafford. "It's a grand valley and a splendid stream." She leant forward with her elbow on the saddle and her chin in the small gauntletted hand, looked up the valley absently and then back at him, with a frank speculation in her eyes which was too frank and calm to be flattering, and was, indeed, somewhat embarrassing.
"I suppose she takes me for a tourist, or a cheap tripper," thought Stafford, with an uncomfortable kind of amusement; uncomfortable, because he knew that this girl who was acting as shepherd in an old weather-stained habit and a battered hat, was a lady.
She broke the silence again.
"Have you caught many fish?" she asked.
Up to now they had been separated by the stream; Stafford seized the opportunity, waded across in a fairly shallow place, and, opening the lid of his basket, showed her the contents.
"Yes, you have done fairly well," she said; "but the trout run larger higher up the valley. By the way," her brows came together slightly, though the very faintest of smiles for an instant curved the delicately cut lips, "do you know that you are poaching?"
This would have been a staggerer coming from a mere keeper, but from this exquisitely beautiful, this calm statue of a girl, it was simply devastating. Stafford stared at her.
"Doesn't this river belong to Sir Joseph Avory?" he asked.
"No," she replied, uncompromisingly. "Sir Joseph Avory's river is called the Lesset water, and runs on the other side of that hill."
She raised her hunting-crop and pointed with an exquisite movement, as graceful as that of a Diana, to the hill behind her.
"I am very sorry," said Stafford. "I thought this was his river. I met him in London and got permission from him. Do you know to whom this water belongs?"
"To Mr. Heron, of Herondale," she replied.
"I beg Mr. Heron's pardon," said Stafford. "Of course I'll put up my rod at once; and I will take the first opportunity of apologising for my crime; for poaching is a crime, isn't it?"
"Yes," she assented, laconically.
"Can you tell me where he lives--where his house is?"
She raised her whip again and pointed to an opening on the left of the valley, an opening lined on either side by a wild growth of magnificent firs.
"It is up there. You cannot see it from here," she said. As she spoke, she took her chin from her hand and sat upright, gathered up her reins, and, with another of the faint inclinations of her head, by way of adieu, rode on up the valley.
Stafford stood with his cap in his hand looking after her for a moment, in a brown study; and, still watching the back of the slight figure that sat the big horse with the grace of an Indian maiden, he began to take down his rod, and, having packed it in his case and fastened his basket, he followed her along the broken bank of the stream. Presently, when she had gone some little distance, he heard the dogs start barking again, the crack of her whip rang like a pistol-shot, and her bell-like voice echoed amongst the hills, joined with the troubled baaing of the sheep. Stafford stopped and watched her: there was evidently something wrong; for the dogs had become excited, the sheep were running wildly; but the girl's exquisite voice was as clear and calm as ever, and the big horse cantered over the broken ground, taking a big boulder now and again with lilting jump, as if he were going by his own volition and was well up in all the points of the game. After a time the dogs got the sheep into a heap, and the young girl rode round them; but something still seemed to be wrong, for she got down, and, leaving the horse quite free, made her way into the flock.
At that moment Stafford saw a sheep and a lamb break from the mob and make for the stream; the sheep jumped to a boulder with the agility of a goat, the lamb attempted to follow, but missed the