What a nuisance! We shall have to get some men from Bryndermere to put them up again." Stafford rode up to the weir and looked at it critically.
"Thank Heaven I haven't got to count the stones!" he said.

"If you'll kindly hold my horse--he's not so well trained as yours, and would bolt, I'm afraid." He slipped from the saddle as he spoke, and she caught the reins.
"What are you going to do?
she asked.
"I don't know yet," Stafford called back, as he waded into the river.
She held the horse and sat reposeful in the saddle and watched him with a smile upon her face.

But it grew suddenly grave as she saw Stafford stoop and put his arms round one of the fallen stones; and she cried to him: "Oh, you can't lift them; it's no use trying!" Stafford apparently did not hear her, for, exerting all his strength, he lifted the big stone and gradually slid and hoisted it into its place.

Then he attacked the other two, and with a still greater effort raised them into a line with their fellows.
Ida watched him as--well, as one watches some "strong man" going through his performance.
It was a well-nigh incredible feat, and she held her breath as one stone followed the other.

It seemed to her incredible and impossible, because Stafford's figure was slight and graceful, and he performed the feat with the apparent ease which he had learnt in the 'varsity athletic sports.
The colour rose to her face and her heart beat quickly.