And yonder is Hawes," said Irene, pointing to the head of the dale.

"Yes; too far to see."

They did not exchange a look. Irene spoke at once of something else.

There came to lunch Mrs. Borisoff's cousin, a grouse-guest at a house
some miles away. He arrived on horseback, and his approach was watched
with interest by two pairs of eyes from the Castle windows. Mr. March
looked well in the saddle, for he was a strong, comely man of about
thirty, who lived mostly under the open sky. Irene had met him only
once, and that in a drawing-room; she saw him now to greater advantage,
heard him talk freely of things he understood and enjoyed, and on the
whole did not dislike him. With Helen he was a favourite; she affected
to make fun of him, but had confessed to Irene that she respected him
more than any other of her county-family kinsfolk. As he talked of his
two days' shooting, he seemed to become aware that Miss Derwent had no
profound interest in this subject, and there fell from him an
unexpected apology.

"Of course it isn't a very noble kind of sport," he said, with a laugh.
"One is invited--one takes it in the course of things. I prefer the big
game, where there's a chance of having to shoot for your life."

"I suppose one _must_ shoot something," remarked Irene, as if musing a
commonplace.

March took it with good nature, like a man who cannot remember whether
that point of view ever occurred to him, but who is quite willing to
think about it. Indeed, he seemed more than willing to give attention
to anything Miss Derwent choose to say: something of this inclination
had appeared even at their first meeting, and to-day it was more
marked. He showed reluctance when the hour obliged him to remount his
horse. Mrs. Borisoff's hope that she might see him again before he left
this part of the country received a prompt and cheerful reply.

Later, that afternoon, the two friends climbed the great hillside above
the Castle, and rambled far over the moorland, to a windy height where
they looked into deep wild Swaledale. Their talk was only of the scenes
around them, until, on their way back, they approached a line of
three-walled shelters, built of rough stone, about the height of a man.
In reply to Irene's question, Helen explained the use of these
structures; she did so in an off-hand way, with the proper terms, and
would have passed on, but Irene stood gazing.

"What! They lie in ambush here, whilst the men drive the bir