At Loves Cost | Page 5

night--I've engaged rooms--and you can
have a warm bath and get into the dress-clothes after which you are
hankering. When I've caught a fish or two I'll come on after you. Don't
argue, now!"
"My dear Stafford, I haven't the least intention of doing so; I'm simply
dying for a bath, a change, and a huge fire; and when you arrive you'll
find me sitting over the latter humbly thanking God that I'm not a
sportsman."
Stafford nodded, with his eyes on the stream.
"I should give the nags some gruel, Pottinger, and put an extra coat on
them: it'll be cold to-night. Ta, ta, Howard! Tell 'em to get a nice dinner;
I'll be there in time for 'em to cook the fish; but don't wait if I should be
late--say half past seven."
"I promise you I won't," retorted Howard, fervently. "And I am one of
those men who never break a promise--unless it's inconvenient."

The phaeton drove on, Stafford went down to the stream, put up his rod,
chose a fly as carefully as if the fate of a kingdom depended on it, and
began to fish.
There is this great advantage in the art of fly-fishing: that while you are
engaged in it you can think of nothing else: it is as absorbing as love or
scarlet fever. Stafford worked his fly steadily and systematically, with a
light and long "cast" which had made him famous with the brethren of
the craft, and presently he landed a glittering trout, which, though only
a pound in weight, was valued by Stafford at many a pound in gold.
The fish began to rise freely, and he was so engrossed in the sport that
he did not notice that Howard's prophecy had come true, that the mist
had swept over the landscape again, and that it was raining, if not
exactly cats and dogs, yet hard enough to make even the opposite bank
a blur in his vision.
But Stafford was utterly indifferent to rain and mist while the trout
were rising, and his basket was half full before he looked around him. It
is wonderful, when you are fishing, how great a distance you can walk
without noticing it. He had followed the winding course of the stream
until it had left the road far behind and struck into a valley, the
wildness, the remoteness of which was almost awe-inspiring; and he
stood still for a moment and looked up at the sky into which the tall,
sharp peaks of the hills lost themselves. The stream, broken by huge
boulders, rumbled with a soft roar which was the only sound that broke
the stillness. It was the silence, a profound stillness, which makes one
feel as if one has wandered into an unknown world newly made and as
yet untouched by the foot of man, unsullied by his presence.
Stafford could not have quoted a verse of poetry to save his life; it
wasn't in his line; he could ride straight, was a first-rate shot, waltzed
like an angel, and so far his dictionary did not contain the word "fear;"
but he knew nothing of poetry or art, and only liked some kinds of
music, amongst which, it is to be feared, "Soldiers of the Queen," and
the now much-abused chorus from "Faust," ranked high in his
estimation. He was just simply a healthy young Englishman,
clean-limbed and clean-minded, with a tremendous appetite for

pleasure, a magnificent frame, and a heart as light and buoyant as a
cork; therefore, though an artist or a poet would have been thrilled to
the marrow by the wild grandeur of the secluded valley and the grimly
towering hills, and would have longed to put them on canvas or into
verse, Stafford only felt suddenly grave, and as if it were playing it low
down to throw an artificial fly, even of the best make, in such a spot.
But in a moment or two the sportsman's instinct woke in him; a fish
stirred in a pool under a boulder, and pulling himself together he threw
a fly over the rise. As he did so, the brooding silence was broken by the
deep musical bark of a collie, followed by the sharp yap, yap of a
fox-terrier. The sudden sound almost startled Stafford; at any rate,
caused him to miss his fish; he looked up with a little frown of
annoyance, and saw on the break of the opposite hill some of the
mountain sheep which had stared at him with haughty curiosity running
down towards the green bottom of the valley followed by the two dogs.
A moment afterwards a horse and rider were silhouetted on the extreme
top of the high hill. The horse was large whereby the rider looked small;
and