But Miss
Cunyngham, while always friendly and pleasant, remained (as he thought)
strangely remote, imperturbable, calm. She did not seem to care about
his society at all. Perhaps she would rather have him go up the
hill?--though the birds were getting very wild now for a novice. In any
case, she could not refuse to let him accompany her on the morning after
his deer-stalking expedition; for all the story had to be told her.
"I suppose you are very stiff," she said, cheerfully, as they left the
lodge--he walking heavily in waders and brogues--old Robert coming up
behind with rod and gaff. "But I should imagine you do not ask for much
sympathy. Shall I tell you what you are thinking of at this moment? You
have a vague fear that the foxes may have got at that precious animal
during the night; and you are anxious to see it safely down here at the
lodge; and you want to have the head sent at once to Mr. Macleay's in
Inverness, so that it mayn't get mixed up with the lot of others which
will be coming in when the driving in the big forests begins. Isn't that
about it?"
"You are a witch," said he, "or else you have been deer-stalking
yourself.
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