“I will do nothing of the kind,” said he, distinctly.  “You have given me too many of your fish.  You have been far too generous all the way through.  No?  I will gaff him for you—­but you must tell me how—­for I never tried before.”

“Oh, it is simple enough,” she said.  “You’ve seen old Robert gaff plenty of fish.  Only mind you don’t strike across the casting-line.  Get behind the casting-line—­about half-way down the fish—­get well over him—­and then a sharp, bold stroke will fetch him out.”

Accordingly, armed with the gaff, Lionel made his way down to the lowest ridge of the rock, so that he found himself just over the black-brown pool.  And, indeed, his services were called upon much sooner than he had expected; for the salmon, grown tired of sulking, now began to swim slowly round and round, sometimes coming up so that they could just catch a glimmer of him, and again disappearing.  But the fortunate thing for them was that there were no shallows to frighten the fish; he knew nothing of his danger as he happened to come sailing round Lionel’s way; and he was gradually coming nearer and nearer to the surface, until they could watch his every motion as he made his slow rounds.  Once or twice Lionel tried to get the gaff over him, and had to withdraw it; but at last Miss Honnor called out,

“This next time, Mr. Moore, as he comes round to you, I will lift him a bit; be ready!”

But what was this amazing thing that happened all in one wild second?  Lionel struck at the fish, pinned him securely, dragged him out of the water, and then, to his horror, found that the unexpected weight of this fighting and struggling creature was proving too much for him—­he was overbalanced—­he could not recover himself—­down they all went together—­himself, the gaff, and the salmon—­into the still, deep pool!  As for him, that was nothing; he could swim a little; a few strokes took him to the other side, where he clambered on to the rocks; he managed to recover his cap; and then, with the deepest mortification in his soul, he made his way back to rejoin his companion.  What apology could he offer for his unheard-of bungling and stupidity?  Would she not look on him as an unendurable ass?  Why had he chosen so insecure a foothold and made such a furious plunge at the fish?  Over-eagerness, no doubt—­

And then the next moment he noticed that her rod was still curved!

“We’ll get him yet, Mr. Moore!” she called to him, in the most good-humored fashion.  “Come out on to the rock, and you’ll see the strangest-looking salmon you ever saw in your life.”

And, indeed, that was an odd sight—­the big fish slowly sailing round and round the pool, with the gaff still attached and the handle floating parallel with its side.

“It will take some time, though,” said she.  “I think you’d better go away home and get dry clothes on.  I’ll manage him by myself.”

“I dare say you would manage him better by yourself than with any help of mine,” he said, in his bitter chagrin and self-contempt.  “I made sure I had lost you the salmon.”