'I have fished for trout in many places—even in the Lake of Geneva,' said he, 'and, curiously enough, the fish there are precisely the same as those in Lough Neagh in Ireland.'
'In weather so clear and light as this—even after flood—it is no easy task to lure them to destruction here,' replied Mary, 'and a light enough basket is often carried home, even from the best parts of the stream.'
'Such has been my fortune to-day,' said he, as he quietly proceeded by her side; but now Mary remembered that the path she had indicated to him as leading to Craigmhor was also the one she had to pursue to reach Birkwoodbrae.
'Our May trout are very beautiful, and are as good in quality as in appearance,' remarked Mary, scarcely knowing what to say.
'I hope you do not venture to such places as this in winter,' said he, pointing to some rocks that overhung the shaded stream.
'Why?' asked Mary, laughing.
'Because, when the water freezes—as I suppose it does—and these rocks are covered with snow, there must be danger.'
'I fear you look at them with a Londoner's eyes.'
'I am a Londoner—in one fashion—Captain Colville of the Guards.'
'Oh, I do not fear the snow,' said Mary; 'I have been up on the summit of yonder hill when it was covered deep with snow,' she added, pointing to a spur of the Ochils, while her eyes kindled, for under the shadow of those mountains she was born; 'but I was only a child then.'