The Curate and the Actress | Page 2

wide, the better to behold the charming apparition standing on the bank close by, in a half-timid, half-respectful attitude.
So ecstatic was his admiration that he forgot to answer her question until she repeated it, whereupon he blushed like a girl and removed his hat.
"I know a short cut,"' he replied, "but if you are unacquainted with the country, I should advise you to keep to the river."
"Thank you. Is it far?"
"About four miles."
The girl gave a little frightened gasp. "Four miles," she echoed, "why it will be dusk before I get there. How annoying! This comes of exploring a country."
"Have you walked far?" he ventured timidly.
"Far! " she exclaimed, "I must have walked miles. I left Stollbridge at eleven this morning intending to visit Calvert Hall; I was told that there was a short cut across the fields which reduced the distance to two miles; I attempted to follow out the minute directions which I had received with the result that I lost myself hopelessly, and have been wandering about ever since."
"Dear me!" ejaculated Andrew, then added brilliantly, "You must be tired!"
"I should think I am," she answered; "wouldn't you be?"
Andrew confessed that such a contingency was probable, and then for a moment he pondered over something that had come into his mind. He noted that she was young, that she was very pretty, and very ladylike, both in dress and manner and this observation troubled him not a little. Had she been elderly or unattractive, his duty would have been clear to him. As it was--
He brought his reasoning to an abrupt termination by offering timidly to take her back to Stollbridge in his boat.
She hesitated at first, looked demure, and spoke of troubling and of not knowing him, but ended by accepting his invitation.
Of course, it could not be expected that these two would travel over those four miles of tranquil river in silence. They chatted affably, and the girl even displayed a certain spirit of innocent badinage which played sad havoc with Andrew's nerves.
He noticed that her eyes were dark and large, and had a trick of opening wide at times like those of a puzzled child; that her hair was of a bright auburn; that her complexion was as delicate as that of a peach; that her mouth was small and sensitive; and that her figure, although petite, was well proportioned. By the time they had travelled a mile, it occurred to the curate that there was no reason why he should fatigue himself by over-vigorous sculling. They would reach Stollbridge quite soon enough. Of course, he told himself that it was not of the least consequence when they arrived, but down in his heart of hearts he knew that he was not telling himself exactly the truth, for--well--she was very pretty, and fresh, and innocent, and he was very young. "You are of course a visitor at Stollbridge?" he inquired presently, and he actually began to fear the conversational powers that he was displaying.
"Oh yes," she replied frankly, "I am only here for three or four weeks."
Andrew was burning to ask her how much of the three or four weeks might still be left, but he thought the question too bold, so, with a sigh, he stifled it and grew silent.
"Do you often come on the river?" the girl inquired after a pause.
"Almost every day, when it is fine."
"And do you often pity ladies who have lost their way and take them back to Stollbridge in your boat?"
"I?" he ejaculated in accents of the profoundest horror. "I--I assure you that I do not!"
"What a pity!" she answered archly.
Andrew felt uncomfortable as the suspicion arose in his mind that, despite his cloth, she was amusing herself at his expense and he muttered something about understanding why the circumstance should be a lamentable one.
It was not until he had assisted her out of the boat at Stollbridge that she made her meaning clear to him.
"If it were a regular practice of yours," she said, and her eyes had a mischievous look in them like those of a kitten at play, "I might be tempted soon to lose myself again, for I never enjoyed the river so much as this evening. I wonder why?"
Andrew blushed up to the roots of his hair, and deemed her innocent outspokeness very embarrassing. Then, for the first time in his life, he became guilty of a gallant speech.
"No more have I," he replied in a whisper--for his sanctity was afraid that the innocent-looking boatman might have ears like other people--"and if you should contrive to lose yourself again--well--I should be happy to find you."
He realised that he had expressed himself clumsily, and yet he felt that he ought rather to be ashamed of his boldness. But then, as I have said already,