"Gentlemen will go very far for salmon-fishing now-a-days, so I am told; and you might give them quiet quarters here, and make them comfortable, and every year they would come back. And I should not be hard upon you in fixing the rent. Indeed, I would rather the proposal came from you. What do you think you could afford to give me for the spring fishing in the Garra?"
"Oh, as for that," said the young landlord, rather uncivilly, "I do not see that there should be any rent. For the people about here were saying that no one has a right to the salmon more than anyone else."
"Now you know you're talking nonsense," said Mary, with decision. "For if everyone had a right to the salmon, in a fortnight's time there would not be a single fish left in the river. And besides, do you forget that there is the law?"
"Oh, yes, Peter knows there is the law," interposed Mr. Purdie, who seemed to be in a most facetious mood. "Not more than two months ago Peter found that out when the Sheriff at Dingwall fined him ten shillings and ten shillings expenses for having carried and used a gun without a license. There is quite sufficient of law in the land, as Peter has just found out."
The young man's eyes were filled with a sullen fire; but he said nothing.
"However," continued Miss Stanley, not heeding this interruption, "I would not insist much on rent: I might even give you the spring fishing for nothing, if you thought it would induce the gentlemen to come and occupy the inn. It is an out-of-the-way place; but perhaps you would not be charging them very much either—not very much—I don't quite know what would be a fair rent to ask—"
"I would charge them £30 a month," said he.
She looked up, a trifle indignant.
"Oh, I see. The fishing is worth nothing while I have it; but it's worth £30 a month when you have it: is that how the matter stands? Do you call that fair dealing? Well, I haven't given you the fishing yet—not on those terms." She rose—rather proudly. "Come, Käthchen, I think we might go and have a look at this fishing that seems to alter in value so remarkably the moment it changes hands. We need not trouble you, Mr. Purdie. Good evening!" This last salutation was addressed to the landlord, who seemed to have no word of explanation to offer: then the two girls went out from the inn, and walked off in the direction of the river, which they had seen in passing on the previous evening.
Mary was no doubt considerably hurt and offended; and there were still further trials in store for her before the end of this arduous and disappointing day. She had proposed this excursion to the river chiefly in order to get rid of Mr. Purdie; but when she and Käthchen found themselves by the side of the Garra, a vague curiosity drew them on, until they had penetrated into solitudes where the stream for the most part lay still and dark under the gloom of the steep overhanging banks. There was something strangely impressive in the silence and in the dusk; for while a distant range of hill flamed russet in the western light—an unimaginable glory—the stealthily creeping river was here almost black in shadow, under the thick birchwoods. And then suddenly she caught Käthchen by the arm. Surely there was some one there—a figure out in the stream—a faint grey ghost in the mysterious twilight? And then a startling thing occurred. The figure moved; and instantly, on the black and oily surface of the water there was a series of vivid blue-white circles widening out and out, and slowly subsiding into the dark again. Each time the grey ghost moved onward (and the two girls stood motionless, watching this strange phenomenon) there was this sudden gleam (the reflection of the clear-shining heavens overhead) that lasted for a moment or two; then the vague obscurity once more encompassed the unknown person, and he became but an almost imperceptible phantom. And was there not some sound in the all-pervading stillness?—an occasional silken 'swish' through the air? Mary understood what this was well enough.