Ascending the lesser elevation on the farther side of the valley he passed in again among the great firs; but now the woods grew lighter as he walked, his course after a while tending downwards. Soon he emerged again into the red sunlight, and upon a far greater extent of comparatively open country than the gap in the woods he had lately crossed. Here he came upon a third essential of perfect beauty in scenery—a rushing stream of water, dancing and sparkling between its sedgy banks as though rejoicing in the change from the barren blackness of its mountain source to the warm luxuriance at which it had now arrived. A short distance below, as its bed grew wider and smoother, the stream became less turbulent, and soon subsided into a placidity marred only by the leaping fish.
The sportsman, however, had for the moment turned the other way, walking some two hundred yards to where it was possible to cross the stream, using the boulders in its course as stepping-stones. On reaching the other side he walked down the bank, not very far before halting to light a cigar. Having done this he still lingered, curiously attracted by a movement of the water under the opposite bank, now some distance off, for the stream had suddenly widened. It was a slight regular splashing, not natural to the spot, for the movement of the water seemed objective not subjective. He could not see whence it proceeded, the cause, in foreign, being hidden by the reeds and sedge which luxuriated along the bank. To resolve his doubts he took up his gun, quietly slipped a cartridge into it, and carelessly fired at the spot. Almost simultaneously there rose the cry not of bird or beast, but of a human being, and above the tops of the rushes directly appeared the head of—a woman.
In a moment the quiet imperturbability of the man vanished. Startled and shocked, he shouted vehement apologies; then set off running back to the place where the stream was fordable. Here in his hurry, he made a false step on the uneven surface of the stones and only just saved himself from falling into the water. He scrambled up and across and, running down the bank, soon pushed his way through the reeds and reached the lady whom he had unwittingly fired at.
That she was young and good-looking accounted, perhaps, for his precipitate haste; when he came face to face with her he told himself that his rush and scramble were fully justified.
A tall distinguished-looking girl stood before him; the handsomest specimen of female humanity he had seen for many a long day, glancing at him with an expression of half annoyance, half curiosity, but with the perfect self-possession that only a high-bred woman is capable of. There was no self-consciousness, no aiming at effect. She seemed to trouble herself very little about the man by whose act she might at that moment be lying dead where she now stood; vouchsafing him little more than a casual glance, and receiving his profuse apologies with no reciprocal excitement.
“But I have hit you, mad fool that I was! That is blood on your dress?”
There was a dark stain on the girl’s brown travelling skirt.
“Yes; some shot hit my hand,” she replied coolly, bringing forward her left hand bound with her handkerchief the delicate texture of which was absorbing blood like blotting paper.
“Oh! What can I say! Do let me——”
“And ruined my gown,” she went on in the same calm voice, contrasting curiously with his excited tone. “Or perhaps it was my fault. I should have held my hand out of harm’s way.”