She shrank away from his arms and eyes, and longed to be left to herself for a little. And then she thought what a mean thing it was to be taking advantage of his bad leg. With that she came back, and to change his thoughts, said, “Show me a trout in the brook now, Hilary.” “You deserve to see fifty, for being so good. There, you must help me along, you know. Now just stand here and let me hold you, carefully and most steadily. No, not like that. That will never do. I must at least have one arm round you, or in you go, and I have to answer for your being ‘drownded’!” “Drowned! You take advantage now to make me so ridiculous. The water is scarcely six inches deep. But where are the little troutsies?” “There! There! Do you see that white stone? Now look at it most steadfastly, and then you are sure not to see them. Now turn your head like that, a little,--not too much, whatever you do. Now what do you see, most clearly?” “Why, I see nothing but you and me, in the shadow of that oak-tree, standing over the water as if we had nothing better in the world to do!” “We are standing together, though. Don’t you think so?” “Well, even the water seems to think so. And what can be more changeable?” “Now look at me, and not at the water. Mabel, you know what I am.” “Hilary, I wish I did. That is the very thing that takes such a long time to find out.” “Now, did I treat you in such a spirit? Did I look at you, and think,‘here is a rogue I must find out’?” “No, of course you never did. That is not in your nature. At the same time, perhaps, it might not matter so long to you, as it must to me.” She met his glad eyes with a look so wistful, yet of such innocent trust (to assuage the harm of words), that Hilary might be well excused for keeping the Grower’s supper waiting, as he did that evening. CHAPTER XIX. FOUR YOUNG LADIES. The excellent people of Coombe Lorraine as yet were in happy ignorance of all these fine doings on Hilary’s part. Sir Roland knew only too well, of course, that his son and heir was of a highly romantic, chivalrous, and adventurous turn. At Eton and Oxford many little scrapes (which seemed terrible at the time) showed that he was sure to do his best to get into grand scrapes, as the landscape of his youthful world enlarged. “Happen what will, I can always trust my boy to be a gentleman,” his father used to say to himself, and to his only real counsellor, old Sir Remnant Chapman. Sir Remnant always shook his head; and then (for fear of having meant too much) said, “Ah, that is the one thing after all. People begin to talk a great deal too much about Christianity.”