And if we were wet, there was a
great drying-room off the kitchen premises where our clothes were
dried by a housemaid who really understood the business. As for our
tackle, we dried our own lines and pegged them under the verandah, and
rewound them again in the morning, made up our own casts, and
generally did everything for ourselves without a retinue of
attendants. And thereby we enjoyed ourselves hugely.

Angus and Sandy, the two handy-men of the place, would carry the
lunch-basket or pull the boats on the loch or stand by with the gaff
or net--and what experts they are!--but the rest we did for ourselves.
By the time I had got a pipe on and wetted my line, Myra was some
fifty yards or so up stream making for a spot where she suspected
something. She has the unerring instinct of the inveterate poacher! I
cast idly once or twice, content to revel in the delight of holding a
rod in my hand once more, intoxicated with the air and the scenery and
the sunshine (What a good thing the fish in the west "like it
bright!"), and after a few minutes a sudden jerk on my line brought me
back to earth. I missed him, but he thrilled me to the serious
business of the thing, and I fished on, intent on every cast.

I suppose I must have fished for about twenty minutes, but of that I
have never been able to say definitely. It may possibly have been
more. I only know that as I was picking my way over some boulders to
enable me to cast more accurately for a big one I had risen, I heard
Myra give a sharp, short cry. I turned anxiously and called to her.

I could not distinguish her at first among the great gray rocks in the
river. Surely she could not have fallen in. Even had she done so, I
hardly think she would have called out. She was extraordinarily sure
on her feet, and, in any case, she was an expert swimmer. What could
it be? Immediately following her cry came Sholto's deep bay, and then
I saw her. She was standing on a tall, white, lozenge-shaped rock,
that looked almost as if it had been carefully shaped in concrete. She
was kneeling, and her arm was across her face. With a cry I dashed
into the river, and floundered across, sometimes almost up to my neck,
and ran stumbling to her in a blind agony of fear. Even as I ran her
rod was carried past me, and disappeared over the fall below.

"Myra, my darling," I cried as I reached her, and took her in my arms,
"what is it, dearest? For God's sake tell me--what is it?"

"Oh, Ronni