“And what then?” she said, with some surprise.  “I assure you it wasn’t the salmon I was thinking of when I saw you in the water—­but the moment you struck out I knew you were safe.”

He did not speak any more; he was too humiliated and vexed.  It is true that when, at length, the salmon, entirely dead beat, suffered himself to be led in to the side of the rock, Lionel managed to seize the handle of the gaff, and this time, making sure of his foothold, got the fish on land; but this final success in no way atoned for his having so desperately made a fool of himself.  In silence he affixed the bit of string she gave him to the head and tail of this very pretty twelve-pounder; and in silence they set out, he carrying the salmon and she the rod over her shoulder.

“It will be a surprise for old Robert when we meet him,” she said, cheerfully.  “But he will wonder how you came to be so drenched.”

“Yes,” said he, “it will be a pretty story of tomfoolery for them all to hear.  I should like to make a comic drawing of it, if I could.  It would have done capitally for John Leech, among the exploits of Mr. Briggs.”

She glanced at him curiously.  She knew what he was thinking of—­of the tale that would be told among the keepers and the gillies of his having soused himself into the Geinig Pool in trying to gaff a fish.  And might not the story find its way from the kennels into the gun-room, and thence into the drawing-room?

There was no doubt he was thoroughly ashamed and crestfallen, and angry with himself; and though she talked and chatted just as usual, he was quite taciturn all the way down the side of the Geinig.  They reached the Junction Pool.

“Come now, Mr. Moore,” she said, with the utmost good-nature, “you make too much of that little mistake.  You are far too afraid of ridicule.  But I am going to put it all right for you.”

What was his astonishment and consternation to see her, after she had laid her rod on the shingle, deliberately walk a yard or two into the shallow water, and then throw herself down into it for a second, while she held out her hand to him.

“Pull me out, Mr. Moore!” she said.

“Good heavens, Miss Honnor!” he exclaimed—­but instantly he caught her hand, and she rose to her feet and began to shake the water from her as best she might.  “What do you mean?”

“You’ve pulled me out of the river,” said she, laughing, as she shook her dripping sleeves and kicked her skirts; and then she went on, coolly, to explain, “I know you are rather sensitive to ridicule, and you don’t like to think of those people telling the story against you as to how you fell into the Geinig Pool.  Very well; there needn’t be any such story.  If any one asks you how you came to be so wet, you can say I got into the water, and you pulled me out.  It will sound quite heroic.”

“So I am to have the credit of having saved your life?” he said.