However, before the rod could be given into Lionel’s hands the salmon had changed his tactics.  He came dashing across to the nearer side of the Aivron, so that the nose of land separating the two rivers threatened to come between the fish and his captor; there he lay still.

“Robert,” she cried, in despair, “if he goes another yard up-stream he will have the line on that bush!  What is to be done?”

Almost at the same moment the fish began to move again—­slowly this time—­and with agonized anxiety they saw the line, despite all her efforts to keep it off, being quietly drawn into the small hazel-bush.  But Robert knew that bush and its ways.

“Take the rod in, sir, as far as you can go,” he said to Lionel; and then he himself ran round to a shallow ford of the Geinig, crossed over, went along the bank, and proceeded to get the line cautiously off the twigs and leaves.  As soon as he had accomplished that he stealthily withdrew, stooped down, and crept along the Aivron bank until he was a little ahead of the fish, which, indeed, was almost underneath his feet; then he suddenly raised himself to his full height and threw up both arms.  That was enough for the salmon.  Away to the other side he rushed, leading down-stream; and Lionel had now his work cut out for him, for he was standing in deep water, on a shelving bank of loose shingle, and he had to follow somehow, reeling in as best he might.  But ever, as he struggled after that obdurate, unseen creature, he made for shallower water; and at length he reached dry land, and was glad to give the rod into Miss Honnor’s hands again—­the fish, which had never once shown himself, being now almost opposite her and in mid-channel.

Well, they had a good deal of trouble with this salmon, for he did not exhaust himself with any further rushes, nor did he disport himself in the air; he simply lay low in the water, in a pretty strong current, and awaited events.  But here in the open Miss Honnor had regained her confidence and usual composure; and in the end the continuous pressure of the green-heart top was too much for him; he began to yield—­fiercely fighting now and again to get away, to be sure; but the climax was a sudden flash of Robert’s steel clip, and a heavy-shouldered fifteen-pounder was out on the stones.  Old Robert, smiling grimly at the success of his young mistress, but saying nothing, had to “wet” the fish all by himself; for Miss Honnor’s drink was water; and as for Lionel, his throat was too valuable and sensitive a possession to be treated to raw spirits at that time of the morning.  Then, that ceremony being over, they deposited the salmon in a hole in the bank, to be picked up on their homeward journey, and forthwith set out again, up the valley of the Geinig.