She raised her eyes from the horse and waited, with the quietude, the self-possession and dignity which seemed so strange in one so young, and which, by its strangeness, fascinated him. "I--spoke to my father about the land: he is innocent in the matter. It was bought through his agent, and my father knows nothing of anything--underhand. I can't tell you how glad I am that this is so. So glad that--I'll make a clean breast of it--I rode over this morning in the hope of meeting you and telling you."

She made a little gesture of acceptance.

"I am glad, too. Though it does not matter...."

"Ah, but it does!" he broke in. "I should have been wretched if you had been right, and my father had been guilty of anything of the kind. But, as a matter of fact, he isn't capable of it--as you'd say if you knew him. Now, there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends, is there?" he added, with a suppressed eagerness.

"Oh, no," she responded. She glanced up at the sky. Unnoticed by him a cloud had drifted over the Langdale pikes, as the range of high mountain is called. "It is going to rain, and heavily."

"And you have no umbrella, waterproof!" exclaimed Stafford.

She laughed with girlish amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Umbrella? I don't think I have such a thing; and this cloth is nearly waterproof; besides, I never notice the rain--here it comes!"

It came with a vengeance; it was as if the heavens had opened and let down the bottom of a reservoir.

Stafford mechanically took off his coat.

"Put this on," he said. "That jacket is quite light; you'll get wet through."

Her face crimsoned, and she laughed a little constrainedly.

"Please put your coat on!" she said, gravely and earnestly. "_You_ will be wet through, and you are not used to it. There is a shed round the corner; ride there as quickly as you can."

Stafford stared at her, then burst into a laugh which echoed hers.

"And leave you here! Is it likely?"

"Well, let us both go," she said, as if amused by his obstinacy.

"Is it far?" he asked. "See if you can manage to balance on the saddle--I would run beside you. It's all very well to talk of not minding the rain, but this is a deluge."

She glanced at the horse.

"I couldn't get up--I could if he were barebacked, or if it were a lady's saddle--it doesn't matter. Look, Donald and Bess are laughing at you for making a fuss about a shower."

"Will you try--let me help you?" he pleaded. "I could lift you quite easily--Oh, forgive me, but I'm not used to standing by and seeing a girl get soaked."

"You are walking--not standing," she reminded him, solemnly.

Perhaps her smile gave him courage: he took her just below the shoulders and lifted her on to the saddle, saying as he did so, and in as matter-of-fact a voice as he could:

"If you'll just put your hand on my shoulder, you'll find that you can ride quite safely--though I expect you could do it without that--I've seen you ride, you know."

He kept his eyes from her, so that he did not see the hot blush which mantled in the clear ivory of her face, or the sudden tightening of the lips, as if she were struggling against some feeling, and fighting for her usual self-possession.

She succeeded in a moment or two, and when he looked up the blush had gone and something like amus.e.m.e.nt was sharing the sweet girlish confusion in her grey eyes.

"This is absurd!" she said. "It is to be hoped Jason or none of the men will see me; they would think I had gone mad; and I should never hear the last of it. The shed is by that tree."

"I see it--just across the road. Please keep a tight hold of my shoulder; I should never forgive myself if you slipped."

"I am not in the least likely to slip," she said.

Then suddenly, just as they were on the edge of the road, she uttered an exclamation of surprise rather than embarra.s.sment, for a carriage and pair came round the corner and almost upon them.

Stafford stopped Adonis to let the carriage pa.s.s, but the coachman pulled up in response to a signal from someone inside, and a man thrust his head out of the window and regarded them at first with surprise and then with keen scrutiny.

He was an elderly man, with a face which would have been coa.r.s.e but for its expression of acuteness and a certain strength which revealed itself in the heavy features.

"Can you tell me the way to Sir Stephen Orme's place?" he asked in a rough, harsh voice.

Ida was about to slip down, but she reflected that the mischief, if there were any, was done now; and to Stafford's admiration, she sat quite still under the gaze of the man's keen, sarcastic eyes.

"Yes; keep straight on and round by The Woodman: you will see the house by that time," said Stafford.

"Thanks! Drive on, coachman," said the man; and he drew in his head with a grim smile, and something like a sneer on his thick lips that made Stafford's eyes flash.

CHAPTER VIII.

Stafford and Ida remained, unconscious of the rain, looking after the carriage for a moment or two.

The sneer on the man's heavy yet acutely sharp face, still incensed Stafford. He had the usual desire of the strong man--to dash after the rapidly disappearing vehicle, lug the fellow out and ask him what he was sneering at.

Ida was the first to speak.

"What a strange-looking man," she said.

Stafford started slightly, awaking to the fact that it was still pouring.

"I--I beg your pardon. I'm keeping you out in the rain."

He put Adonis, not at all unwillingly, to a trot, and they gained the rough cattle-shed, and he would have lifted the girl down, but she was too quick for him, and slipped gracefully and easily from the saddle.

Stafford, leading the horse, followed her into the shed. Bess sat on the extreme end of her haunches shivering and blinking, and all too plainly cursing the British climate; but Donald threw himself down outside as if he regarded the deluge as a cheap shower-bath.

Stafford looked at Ida anxiously.

"You are fearfully wet," he said. "I think I could wipe off the worst of it, if you'll let me."

He took out his pocket handkerchief as he spoke and wiped the rain from her straight, beautifully moulded shoulders. She drew back a little and opened her lips to protest at first, but with a slight shrug she resigned herself, her eyes downcast, a faint colour in her face.

"I must be quite dry now," she said at last.

"I'm afraid not," said Stafford. "I wish I had something bigger--a towel."