At Love's Cost

"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?"