This turned out to be perfectly true, and a dozen times in the next quarter of an hour Maud knew that she was within an ace of losing her fish. He behaved like the lusty fresh-run monster that he was, making disconcerting rushes down to the very tail of the pool, and running out her line almost to its last yard before she had time to follow him down the steep stony bank. Then he would seek the very deepest holes, and lie there sulking or jiggering, and putting the most dangerous snapping strains on her light tackle. Then with a rush he would come straight back towards her, so that, do what she would, there were long perilous moments, though she reeled in with a lightning hand when he was on a slack line. But at length he began to tire a little, and instead of hurling himself about the pool, allowed himself to drift every now and then with the stream. That, too, was dangerous, and she had to treat him with the utmost gentleness, since both his dead weight and the press of the water were against her. Then again a spark of his savage pride would flare up, and he would protest against this mysterious compelling force; but he was weakening. "Ah, poor darling!" said Maud once, as his struggles grew less. And the voice answered her. "Yes, that's just how I often feel," it said. A minute or two more passed. "Isn't your gillie here yet?" she asked. "Yes, he came ten minutes ago. Shall I gaff him for you, or shall he?" "Who is he?" asked Maud. "It's Duncan Fraser, my lady," said another voice. "Oh, then, Duncan, please," she said. "Is that rude of me? I am so sorry. But, you see, I know Duncan: he has often gaffed fish for me. Get further down, Duncan, and lie down--get below him; don't let him see you." But there were several agitating moments yet. Each time the fish drifted with the stream she towed him a little nearer to the bank; but though he was very weak now and his protests feeble, he was still capable of momentary violences. But at last he was a mere log, floating with fin out of the water and broad silvery side shining. With a swift, crafty movement, Duncan had him on the bank. Maud laid down her rod and turned away. "Kill him quick, Duncan," she said. "Is it done?" Then, with fine inconsistence: "Oh, what a darling!" she cried. "Quite fresh from the sea, too!" Then for the first time Maud turned to look at the owner of the voice, and found a tall, pleasant-looking young man smiling at her. "I am really extremely obliged to you," she said. "I don't see how I could have landed him without your gaff. There is nowhere in the pool where you can tail a fish." He laughed at this. "Why, I think that is so," he said. "But I am much more your debtor. I've never seen a fish so beautifully handled. Look at your tackle, too! Well, I never!" "Oh, I know the water," she said, "and that makes so much difference, though I couldn't explain how."