He smiled, somewhat indulgently. "Very probably," he said. "I'm a bit of a sportsman, football, and that sort of thing, you know. I've got a pistol in there; I put in time shooting rats along the river bank when I'm by myself and not reading." "Come on down by the river bank now and I'll show you some birds' nests. I found them to-day." "Wait till it gets lighter," he answered. "We'll climb up that hill and watch the sun rise." So they started off together across the intervening space of moorland, the tall athletic young man and the slender graceful girl, and the great silver moon looked down at it all with a parental smile, as he has on countless such scenes since the birth of man. "I'll race you," the engineer said. "All right," she answered, and broke into a run, bounding lightly over the rough ground like a young deer. But the trained athlete kept pace with her easily, he did not pass her, but kept a pace behind; she glanced back and sprinted faster; still he hung on her rear till they were within a hundred yards of the hill. "A final spurt," he said, and she bounded away again. He could have passed her then, too, but he did not. "I won," she said. "Yes, you won," he agreed, looking at her with marked approval. Her head was thrown back a little and her breast heaved steadily, taking great deep long, breaths. She was slightly flushed and her eyes sparkled brightly. They had run a quarter of a mile, and without a pause they went straight up the hill taking it quickly and easily. It took them a quarter of an hour to get to the top, up the zigzag, stony pathway through the pine wood. She led the way and brought him out to a little clearing at the head of a miniature precipice. "There!" she said, and pointed up the valley of the river straight at the lightening dawn. "Grand!" he ejaculated, and they sat down side by side on the bed of soft brown pine needles where the ground sloped gradually towards the cliff. The deep gloom of the pine wood closed behind them like a curtain; down below, at their feet, they could see the tops of the trees in the gorge; out in front spread the beautiful valley with the silent river threading its way down the heart of it. They sat and gazed in silence, listening to the indistinct rustle of nocturnal life in the wood behind them, and the air above: a rustle of leaves, a faint crackle of twigs, a little scream, and some woodland tragedy was past and gone, some tiny life was sped. An owl hooted above them many times, long-drawn, awe-inspiring, suited to the night. "That's a brown owl," she said. "How do you know it's not a barn owl?" he asked. She looked at him in wonder. "Why! it's a different tune." "Tune?" he repeated, in amusement. "I didn't know there was any difference," he added, apologetically.