sed, or heard them, was capable of
explanation in the visitor's mind.

He had found an unknown spot where some good trout dwelt and on an
evening in mid-June he set forth to tempt them. He had discovered
certain deep pools in a disused quarry fed by a streamlet, that
harboured a fish or two heavier than most of those surrendered daily
by the Dart and Meavy, the Blackabrook and the Walkham.

Foggintor Quarry, wherein lay these preserves, might be approached
in two ways. Originally broken into the granite bosom of the moor
for stone to build the bygone war prison of Princetown, a road still
extended to the deserted spot and joined the main throughfare half a
mile distant. A house or two--dwellings used by old-time
quarrymen--stood upon this grass-grown track; but the huge pit was
long ago deserted. Nature had made it beautiful, although the
wonderful place was seldom appreciated now and only wild creatures
dwelt therein.

Brendon, however, came hither by a direct path over the moors.
Leaving Princetown railway station upon his left hand he set his
face west where the waste heaved out before him dark against a blaze
of light from the sky. The sun was setting and a great glory of
gold, fretted with lilac and crimson, burned over the distant
earth, while here and there the light caught crystals of quartz in
the granite boulders and flashed up from the evening sobriety of the
heath.

Against the western flame appeared a figure carrying a basket. Mark
Brendon, with thoughts on the evening rise of the trout, lifted his
face at a light footfall. Whereupon there passed by him the fairest
woman he had ever known, and such sudden beauty startled the man and
sent his own thoughts flying. It was as though from the desolate
waste there had sprung a magical and exotic flower; or that the
sunset lights, now deepening on fern and stone, had burned together
and became incarnate in this lovely girl. She was slim and not very
tall. She wore no hat and the auburn of her hair, piled high above
her forehead, tangled the warm sunset beams and burned like a halo
round her head. The colour was glorious, that rare but perfect
reflection of the richest hues that autumn brings to the beech and
the bracken. And she had blue eyes--blue as the gentian. Their size
impressed Brendon.

He had only known one woman with really large eyes, and she was a
criminal. But this stranger's bright orbs seemed almost to dwarf her
face. Her mouth was not small