be absolutely unconscious of his presence, and only remembered it when
the lamb and its mother had joined the flock.

"Thank you again," she said. "It was very kind of you. I am afraid you
are wet."

As Stafford had gone completely under the water, this was a fact he
could not deny, but he said with a laugh:

"Though I am a Londoner, in a sense, I don't mind a wetting--in a good
cause; and I shall be dry, or as good as dry, before I get to the inn.
You must have eyes like a hawk to have seen, from the top of the hill,
that that lamb was lame," he added, rather with the desire to keep her
than to express his admiration for her sight.

"I have good eyes," she said, indifferently. "One has to have. But I
saw that the lamb was lame from the way it kept beside its mother and
the fuss she made over it: and I knew, too, by Donald's bark, that
something was wrong. I am sorry you are wet. Will you--" She glanced
towards the opening in the hills, paused, and for the first time seemed
slightly embarrassed; Stafford fancied that a faint touch of colour
came to the clear pallor of the lovely young face. She did not finish
the sentence, but with another "Thank you," and "I should not have
liked to have lost the lamb," went towards her horse.

Stafford advanced to put her in the saddle; but, with a little shake of
the head and a "Don't trouble," she sprang into her place and rode off.

Stafford looked after her, as he had done before; then he said, "Well,
I'm d-----d!"