He was looking after his daughter and Rupert with a grave, thoughtful face, and had evidently answered his own thought rather than the old cavalier’s remark.

“Yes,” he repeated, rousing himself with an effort, “they are a pretty pair indeed.”

At a walking pace, Rupert Holliday, very proud of his charge, led the pony in the direction of the pool in which the heron had an hour before been seen by Hugh, the boy and girl chattering in French as they went.  When they neared the spot they stopped, and Adele alighted.  Then Rupert took the hawks, while Hugh went forward alone to the edge of the pool.  Just as he reached it a heron soared up with a hoarse cry.

Rupert slipped the hoods off the hawks, and threw them into the air.  They circled for an instant, and then, as they saw their quarry rising, darting off with the velocity of arrows.  The heron instantly perceived his danger, and soared straight upwards.  The hawks pursued him, sailing round in circles higher and higher.  So they mounted until they were mere specks in the sky.

At last the hawks got above the heron, and instantly prepared to pounce upon him.  Seeing his danger, the heron turned on his back, and, with feet and beak pointed upwards to protect himself, fell almost like a stone towards the earth; but more quickly still the hawks darted down upon him.  One the heron with a quick movement literally impaled upon his sharp bill; but the other planted his talons in his breast, and, rending and tearing at his neck, the three birds fell together, with a crash, to the earth.

The flight had been so directly upwards that they fell but a short distance from the pool, and the lads and Adele were quickly upon the spot.  The heron was killed by the fall; and to Rupert’s grief; one of his hawks was also dead, pierced through and through by the heron’s beak.  The other bird was with difficulty removed from the quarry, and the hood replaced.

Rupert, after giving the heron’s plumes to Adele for her hat, led her back to the pony, Hugh following with the hawk on his wrist, and carrying the two dead birds.

“I am so sorry your hawk is killed,” Adele said.

“Yes,” Rupert answered, “it is a pity.  It was a fine, bold bird, and gave us lots of trouble to train; but he was always rash, and I told him over and over again what would happen if he was not more careful.”

“Have you any more?” Adele asked.

“No more falcons like this.  I have gerfalcons, for pigeons and partridges, but none for herons.  But I dare say Hugh will be able to get me two more young birds before long, and it is a pleasure to train them.”

Colonel Holliday and Monsieur Dessin met them as they returned to the house.

“What, Rupert!  Had bad luck?” his grandfather said.

“Yes, sir.  Cavalier was too rash, and the quarry killed him.”

“Hum!” said the old man; “just the old story.  The falcon was well named, Rupert.  It was just our rashness that lost us all our battles.