fly-fishermen and tourists. Still, he has made no acquaintance with the resident gentry. He might, if wishing it; which he does not, his purpose upon the Wye not being to seek society, but salmon, or rather the sport of taking it. An ardent disciple of the ancient Izaak, he cares for nought else – at least, in the district where he is for the present sojourning.
Such is his mental condition, up to a certain morning; when a change comes over it, sudden as the spring of a salmon at the gaudiest or most tempting of his flies – this brought about by a face, of which he has caught sight by merest accident, and while following his favourite occupation. Thus it has chanced: —
Below the town where he is staying, some four or five miles by the course of the stream, he has discovered one of those places called “catches,” where the king of river fish delights to leap at flies, whether natural or artificial – a sport it has oft reason to rue. Several times so, at the end of Captain Ryecroft’s line and rod; he having there twice hooked a twenty-pounder, and once a still larger specimen, which turned the scale at thirty. In consequence that portion of the stream has become his choicest angling ground, and at least three days in the week he repairs to it. The row is not much going down, but a good deal returning; five miles up stream, most of it strong adverse current. That, however, is less his affair than his oarsman’s – a young waterman by name Wingate, whose boat and services the hussar officer has chartered by the week – indeed, engaged them for so long as he may remain upon the Wye.
On the morning in question, dropping down the river to his accustomed whipping-place, but at a somewhat later hour than usual, he meets another boat coming up – a pleasure craft, as shown by its style of outside ornament and inside furniture. Of neither does the salmon fisher take much note; his eyes all occupied with those upon the thwarts. There are three of them, two being ladies seated in the stern sheets, the third an oarsman on a thwart well forward, to make better balance. And to the latter the hussar officer gives but a glance – just to observe that he is a serving-man – wearing some of its insignia in the shape of a cockaded hat, and striped stable-waistcoat. And not much more than a glance at one of the former; but a gaze, concentrated and long as good manners will permit, at the other, who is steering; when she passes beyond sight, her face remaining in his memory, vivid as if still before his eyes.
All this at a first encounter; repeated in a second, which occurs on the day succeeding, under similar circumstances, and almost in the selfsame spot; then the face, if possible, seeming fairer, and the impression made by it on Vivian Ryecroft’s mind sinking deeper – indeed, promising to be permanent. It is a radiant face, set in a luxuriance of bright amber hair – for it is that of Gwendoline Wynn.
On the second occasion he has a better view of her, the boats passing nearer to one another; still, not so near as he could wish, good manners again interfering. For all, he feels well satisfied – especially with the thought, that his own gaze earnestly given, though under such restraint, has been with earnestness returned. Would that his secret admiration of its owner were in like manner reciprocated!
Such is his reflective wish as the boats widen the distance between; one labouring slowly up, the other gliding swiftly down.
His boatman cannot tell who the lady is, nor where she lives. On the second day he is not asked – the question having been put to him on that preceding. All the added knowledge now obtained is the name of the craft that carries her; which, after passing, the waterman, with face turned towards its stern, makes out to be the Gwendoline– just as on his own boat – the Mary, – though not in such grand golden letters.
It may assist Captain Ryecroft in his inquiries, already contemplated, and he makes note of it.
Another night passes; another sun shines over the Wye; and he again drops down stream to his usual place of sport – this day only to draw blank, neither catching salmon, nor seeing hair of amber hue; his reflecting on which is, perchance, a cause of the fish not taking to his flies, cast carelessly.
He is not discouraged; but goes again on the day succeeding – that same when his boat is viewed through the binocular. He has already formed a half suspicion that the home of the interesting water nymph is not far from that pagoda-like structure, he has frequently noticed on the right bank of the river. For, just below the outlying eyot is where he has met the pleasure-boat, and the old oarsman looked anything but equal to a long pull up stream. Still, between that and the town are several other gentlemen’s residences on the river side, with some standing inland. It may be any of them.
But it is not, as Captain Ryecroft now feels sure, at sight of some floating drapery in the pavilion, with two female heads showing over its baluster rail; one of them with tresses glistening in the sunlight, bright as sunbeams themselves.
He views it through a telescope – for he, too, has come out provided for distant observation – this confirming his conjectures just in the way he would wish. Now there will be no difficulty in learning who the lady is – for of one only does he care to make inquiry.
He would order Wingate to hold way, but does not relish the idea of letting the waterman into his secret; and so, remaining silent, he is soon carried beyond sight of the summer-house, and along the outer edge of the islet, with its curtain of tall trees coming invidiously between.
Continuing on to his angling ground, he gives way to reflections – at first of a pleasant nature. Satisfactory to think that she, the subject of them, at least lives in a handsome house; for a glimpse got of its upper storey tells it to be this. That she is in social rank a lady, he has hitherto had no doubt. The pretty pleasure craft and its appendages, with the venerable domestic acting as oarsman, are all proofs of something more than mere respectability – rather evidences of style.
Marring these agreeable considerations is the thought, he may not to-day meet the pleasure-boat. It is the hour that, from past experience, he might expect it to be out – for he has so timed his own piscatorial excursion. But, seeing the ladies in the summer-house, he doubts getting nearer sight of them – at least for another twenty-four hours. In all likelihood they have been already on the river, and returned home again. Why did he not start earlier?
While thus fretting himself, he catches sight of another boat – of a sort very different from the Gwendoline– a heavy barge-like affair, with four men in it; hulking fellows, to whom rowing is evidently a new experience. Notwithstanding this, they do not seem at all frightened at finding themselves upon the water. Instead, they are behaving in a way that shows them either very courageous, or very regardless of a danger – which, possibly, they are not aware of. At short intervals one or other is seen starting to his feet, and rushing fore or aft – as if on an empty coal-waggon, instead of in a boat – and in such fashion, that were the craft at all crank, it would certainly be upset!
On drawing nearer them Captain Ryecroft and his oarsman get the explanation of their seemingly eccentric behaviour – its cause made clear by a black bottle, which one of them is holding in his hand, each of the others brandishing tumbler, or tea cup. They are drinking; and that they have been so occupied for some time is evident by their loud shouts, and grotesque gesturing.
“They look an ugly lot!” observes the young waterman, viewing them over his shoulder; for, seated at the oars, his back is towards them. “Coal fellows, from the Forest o’ Dean, I take it.”
Ryecroft, with a cigar between his teeth, dreamily thinking of a boat with people in it so dissimilar, simply signifies assent with a nod.
But soon he is roused from his reverie, at hearing an exclamation louder than common, followed by words whose import concerns himself and his companion. These are: —
“Dang it, lads! le’s goo in for a bit o’ a lark! Yonner be a boat coomin’ down wi’ two chaps in ’t; some o’ them spick-span city gents! S’pose we gie ’em a capsize?”
“Le’s
