learn
her name. She was a young lady with dark hair, rode a big horse, and
had a couple of dogs with her--a collie and a fox-terrier." The
landlord had nodded assentingly at each item of the description.

"That must have been Miss Ida--Miss Heron, the squire's daughter, sir,"
he said.

Stafford's brows went up.

"No wonder she stared at me," he said, almost to himself. "But are you
sure? The young lady I saw was not dressed, well--like a squire's
daughter, and she was looking after some sheep like--like a farmer's
girl."

The landlord nodded again.

"That was Miss Ida, right enough, sir," he said, with a touch of
respect, and something like pride in his tone. "Indeed, it couldn't be
anyone else. No doubt Miss Ida had come down to look after the sheep in
the valley; and there's no farmer's daughter in the vale that could do
it better, or half so well, as she. There isn't a girl in the county,
or, for that matter, a man, either, who can ride like Miss Ida, or
knows more about the points of a horse or a dog--yes, and you may say a
cow--than the squire's daughter. And as to her being poorly
dressed--well, there's a reason for that, sir. The family's poor--very
poor."

"Yet the dale seems to be called after them?" Stafford remarked.

"It is, sir!" assented the landlord. "At one time they owned more land
than any other of the big families here; miles and miles of it, with
some of the best farms. But that was before my time, though I've heard
my father tell of it; there's not very much left now beyond the dale
and the home meadows." He sighed as he spoke and looked sadly at the
costly cigar which he was smoking. The feudal spirit still exists in
the hearts of the men who were born in these remote dales and towering
hills, and the landlord of the little inn was as proud of the antiquity
of the Heron family, and as sorry for its broken fortune as any
_villein_ of the middle ages could have been for the misfortunes of his
feudal baron.

"Heron Hall used to be a fine place at one time, sir. I can remember my
father describing what it was in his and his father's days; how there
used to be scores of servants, and as many as fifty horses in the
stables; with the great place filled with guests summer and winter,
spring and autumn. The Squire Heron of that time never rode behind less
than four horses, and once, when he was high sheriff, he rode to meet
the judges with six. It was open house to every poor man in the place,