“You needn’t put it that way,” she answered, as she took up the fishing-rod and resumed her homeward walk.  “All kinds of accidents are continually happening to people who go salmon-fishing, and no one takes any notice of them.  My maid is quite used to getting my things dried—­whether they’re soaked through with rain or with river-water doesn’t much matter to her.  And old Robert can take your clothes to the fire in the gun-room long before the gentlemen come back from the hill.  So, you see, there will probably be no questions asked; but, if there should be, you have what is quite enough of an explanation.”

“Well, Miss Honnor,” said he, “I never heard of such a friendly act in all my life—­such a gratuitous sacrifice; here you have risked getting your death of cold in order to save my childish vanity from being wounded.  Really, I don’t know how to thank you—­though I wish all the same you had not put me under such a tremendous obligation.  But don’t imagine that I am going to claim—­that I am going to steal—­the credit of having saved your life—­I am not quite so mean—­no, if I am asked, I will tell the whole truth—­”

“And make two people ridiculous, instead of one?” she said, with a smile.  “No, you can’t do that.”

However, as it turned out, this Quixotic act of consideration was allowed to remain a dark secret between these two.  With the brisk walking and the warm, sunlit air around them, their clothes were already drying; and when old Robert met them, in the dusky chasm at the foot of the Bad Step, he was far too much engaged with the fish to notice their limp and damp garments; while again, as they resumed their march, he, carrying the fish, lagged in the rear, and thus they escaped his keen eyes.  Indeed, by the time they reached the Lodge, and as Miss Honnor was about to enter, Lionel said to her that he felt quite warm and comfortable, and proposed to go for a further walk down the strath before dinner; but she peremptorily forbade this and ordered him off to his own room to get a change of clothes.

It is not to be imagined that an incident of this kind could do aught but sink deep into the mind of any young man, and especially into the mind of a young man who had particular reasons for wanting to know how this young lady was affected towards him.  She herself had made light of the matter; it had been merely a sudden impulse, born of her own abundant good-nature; probably she would have done as much for Percy Lestrange.  But would she have done as much for Percy Lestrange?  Lionel kept asking himself.  He was vain enough to think she would not.  Who had been her protege all this time?  To whom had she given unobtrusive little hints when she thought these might be useful?  In whose exploits and triumphs and failures had she shown an exceptional interest and sympathy?  Whom had she permitted to go fishing with her on those long days when the world seemed to belong to the two of