As the dogs came up, he put on that air of conciliation which we all know, and murmuring “Good dog!  All right, old chap!” tried to pacify Donald and Bess.  But they were not accustomed to intruders, especially at that time of night, and they were legitimately furious.  Dancing round him, and displaying dazzling teeth threateningly, they drew nearer and nearer, and they would certainly have sprung upon him; but the girl came, not running, but quickly, down the steps and straight across the dewy grass towards them, calling to the dogs as she came in her clear, low voice, which had not a trace of fear in it.  Their loud barking changed to sullen growls as she approached; and, motioning them to be still, she stopped and gazed at Stafford, who stepped out into the moonlight.

She said not a word, but, as she recognised him, a faint colour came into the ivory pallor of her cheek and an expression of surprise in the dark, fearless eyes.

Stafford raised his cap.

“I am very sorry!” he said.  “I am afraid you must think me a great nuisance; this is the second time I have been guilty of trespass.”

She was silent for a moment, not with shyness, but as if she were noticing the change in his dress, and wondering how he came to be in evening-clothes, and where he had come from.  The expression was one of simple girlish curiosity, which softened in a delicious way the general pride and hauteur of her face.

“You are not trespassing,” she said, and the voice sounded very sweet and musical after the din of the dogs.  “There is public right of way along this road.”

“I am immensely relieved,” said Stafford.  “It looks so unfrequented, that I was afraid it was private, and that I had made another blunder; all the same, I am very sorry that I should have disturbed you and made the dogs kick up such a row.  I would have gone on or gone back if I had known you were coming out; but the place looked so quiet—­”

“It does not matter,” she said; “they bark at the slightest noise, and we are used to it.  The place is so quiet because only my father and I live here, and there are only a few servants, and the place is so big.”

All this was said not repiningly, but softly and a little dreamily.  By this time Donald and Bess had recovered their tempers, and after a close inspection of the intruder had come to the conclusion that he was of the right sort, and Donald was sitting close on his launches beside Stafford, and thrusting his nose against Stafford’s hand invitingly.  The girl’s beauty seemed to Stafford almost bewildering, and yet softly and sweetly a part of the beauty of the night; he was conscious of a fear, that was actually a dread, that she would bow, call the dogs and leave him; so, before she could do so, he made haste to say: 

“Now I am here, will you allow me to apologise for my trespass of this afternoon?”

She inclined her head slightly.