No Quarter!. Reid Mayne

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СКАЧАТЬ less interest in it than under other circumstances she might have done. “Unhood again, and let them have it. We forgot to bring the doves for them, and they deserve reward for the way they both bound it – so cleverly.”

      Van Dorn, a Hollander from Falconswaerd – whence in those days all falconers came – bowing, proceeded to execute the command, by removing their hoods from the hawks.

      “Before he surrenders it to their tender mercies, may I ask a favour?”

      It was Eustace Trevor who interrogated, addressing himself to the young lady.

      “Of course you may. What is it, sir?”

      “Leave to appropriate a few of the heron’s feathers.”

      “Why, certainly! The falconer will pluck them for you. Van Dorn, pull out some of its feathers, and hand them to this gentleman. I suppose you mean those over the train, Mr Trevor?”

      “Yes, they.”

      “You hear, Van Dorn.”

      Without that the man knew what was wanted; the loose tail coverts so much prized for plumes; and, drawing them out one by one, he bound them into a bunch with a piece of cord whipped round their shanks; then handed them up to the cavalier. After which he went off to attend upon his hawks.

      There was a short interregnum of silence as the falconer turned his back on them, and till he was out of earshot. Then the young lady asked, with apparent artlessness, —

      “But, Mr Trevor, what do you intend doing with the heron’s feathers?”

      “Pluming my hat with them.”

      “Why, it’s plumed already! and by far showier ones!”

      “Showier they may be; but not prettier, nor so becoming. And certainly not to be esteemed as these; which I shall wear as souvenir of a pleasant time – the pleasantest of my life.”

      There was a pleased expression in her eyes as she listened to what he said; still more when she saw what he did. This, to whip the hat from his head, pluck the panache of ostrich feathers from its aigrette and insert those of the heron in their place. Something he did further seemed also to give her gratification, though she artfully concealed it. Reproach on her lips, but delight in her heart, as she saw him tear the displaced plume into shreds, and toss them to the ground at his horse’s feet.

      “How wasteful you are, Mr Trevor?” she exclaimed, reprovingly. “Those foreign feathers must have cost a great deal of money. What’s worse, you’ve spoiled the look of your hat! Besides, you forget that those now on it came from a conquered bird?”

      “All the more appropriate for a plume to be worn by me.”

      “Why so, sir?”

      “Because of my being vanquished, too.”

      “You vanquished, Mr Trevor! When? where? By whom?” she asked, at the same time mentally interrogating herself. Could he be alluding to that combat in which he received the wound brought with him to Hollymead, the story of which had leaked out, though not told by either combatant. Or, was he hinting at conquest of another kind?

      There was an indescribable expression on her countenance as she sat awaiting his answer – keen anxiety, ill-concealed under an air of pretended artlessness.

      “Vaga!”

      It was not he who pronounced her name; though “Vaga,” with “Powell” adjoined, were the words nearest to his lips. She would have given the world to hear him speak them. But it could not be then. Her sister had called to her, at that moment approaching with Sir Richard. Most ill-timed approach, for it interrupted a dialogue which, allowed to continue, might, and likely would, have ended in declarations of love – confessions full and mutual.

      Chapter Fifteen

      “Dear Little Mer.”

      “Turn and turn, sister,” said Sabrina, as she rode up. “You’ve had sport enough with your great eagles. Suppose we go up to the hill, and give my dear little Mer a cast-off?”

      “Dear little Mer” was a merlin, that sate perched on her left wrist, in size to the peregrines as a bantam cock to the biggest of chanticleers. Withal a true falcon, and game as the gamest of them.

      Why its mistress proposed changing the scene of their sport was that no larks nor buntings – the merlin’s special quarry – were to be met with by the marsh. Their habitat was higher up on the ridge, where there was a tract bare of trees – part pasture, part fallow.

      To her sister’s very reasonable request Vaga did not give the readiest assent. The petted young lady looked, and likely felt, some little vexed at her tête-à-tête with Eustace Trevor having been so abruptly brought to an end. It had promised to make that spot – amid reeds and rushes though it was – hallowed to her, as another on the summit of a certain hill, among hazels and hollies, had been made to her sister. Whatever her thoughts, she showed reluctance to leave the low ground, saying in rejoinder, —

      “Oh! certainly, Sab. But won’t you wait till the dogs have finished beating the sedge?”

      “If you wish it, of course. But you don’t expect them to find another heron?”

      “No; but there may be a widgeon or wild duck. After such an easy victory, I’m sure my pers would like to have another flight. See how they chafe at their hoods and pull upon the jesses! Ah, my beauties! you want to hear the hooha-ha-ha-ha again – that do you.”

      “Oh! let them, then,” said the more compliant Sabrina, “if the dogs put up anything worth flying them at; which I doubt their doing. We’ve made too much noise for that.”

      The conjecture of the sage sister proved correct. For the marsh, quartered to its remotest corners, yielded neither widgeons nor wild ducks; only moor-hens and water-rails – quarry too contemptible to fly the great falcons at.

      “Now,” said Sabrina, “I suppose you’ll consent to the climbing?”

      Her motto might have been Excelsior; she seemed always urging an uphill movement.

      But there was no longer any objection made to it; and the canines being called out of the sedge, all entered the forest, riders and followers afoot, and commenced winding by a wood-path up the steep acclivity of Ruardean’s ridge.

      When upon its crest, which they soon after reached, the grand panorama already spoken of lay spread before their eyes. For they were on the same spot from which the young ladies had viewed it that day when Hector harassed the donkey. Neither of them bestowed a look upon it now; nor did Sabrina even glance at that road winding down from the Wilderness, off which on the former occasion she had been unable to take her eyes. Its interest for her no longer had existence; he who had invested it with such being by her side. Now she but thought of showing off the capabilities of “dear little Mer,” as in fondness she was accustomed to call the diminutive specimen of the falconidae.

      Ere long Mer made exhibition of her high strain and training – for the little falcon was also a female – sufficient to prove herself neither tercel nor haggard. First she raked down a lark, then a corn bunting; and at the third cast-off overtook and bound on to a turtle-dove, big as herself. For all she speedily brought it to the earth, there instantly killing it.

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