Lionel was supposed to be looking on at the fishing; but,
when he dared, he was stealing covert glances at her; for this was one
of the most striking faces he had seen for many a day. There was a
curiously pronounced personality about her features, refined as they
were; her lips were proud--and perhaps a little firmer than usual just
now, when she was wielding a seventeen-foot rod; her clear hazel eyes
were absolutely fearless; and her broadly marked and somewhat square
eyebrows appeared to lend strength rather than gentleness to the
intellectual forehead. Then the stateliness of her neck and the set of
her head; she seemed to recall to him some proud warrior-maiden out of
Scandinavian mythology--though she was dressed in simple homespun and
had for her only henchman this quiet old Robert, who, crouching down
under a birch-tree, was watching every cast made by his mistress with
the intensest interest. And at last Lionel was startled to hear the old
man call out, but in an undertone--"Ho!"
Honnor Cunyngham began coolly to pull in her line through the rings.
"What is it?" Lionel asked, in wonder.
"I rose a fish then, but he came short," she said, quietly.
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