If a denial to this assertion could have been expressed without the use of speech, it was certainly transparent in the face and eyes of the young girl at that moment.  If Falkner had been less self-conscious he would have seen it plainly.  But Kate only buried her face in her lifted muff, slightly raised her pretty shoulders, and, dropping her tremulous eyelids, walked on.  “It seems a pity,” she said, after a pause, “that we cannot preserve our own miserable existence without taking something from others—­sometimes even a life!” He started.  “And it’s horrid to have to remind you that you have yet to kill something for the invalid’s supper,” she continued.  “I saw a hare in the field yonder.”

“You mean that jackass rabbit?” he said, abstractedly.

“What you please.  It’s a pity you didn’t take your gun instead of your rifle.”

“I brought the rifle for protection.”

“And a shot gun is only aggressive, I suppose?”

Falkner looked at her for a moment, and then, as the hare suddenly started across the open a hundred yards away, brought the rifle to his shoulder.  A long interval—­as it seemed to Kate—­elapsed; the animal appeared to be already safely out of range, when the rifle suddenly cracked; the hare bounded in the air like a ball, and dropped motionless.  The girl looked at the marksman in undisguised admiration.  “Is it quite dead?” she said timidly.

“It never knew what struck it.”

“It certainly looks less brutal than shooting it with a shot gun, as John does, and then not killing it outright,” said Kate.  “I hate what is called sport and sportsmen, but a rifle seems—­”

“What?” said Falkner.

“More—­gentlemanly.”

She had raised her pretty head in the air, and, with her hand shading her eyes, was looking around the clear ether, and said meditatively, “I wonder—­no matter.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“It is something,” said Falkner, with an amused smile, reloading his rifle.

“Well, you once promised me an eagle’s feather for my hat.  Isn’t that thing an eagle?”

“I am afraid it’s only a hawk.”

“Well, that will do.  Shoot that!”

Her eyes were sparkling.  Falkner withdrew his own with a slight smile, and raised his rifle with provoking deliberation.

“Are you quite sure it’s what you want?” he asked demurely.

“Yes—­quick!”

Nevertheless, it was some minutes before the rifle cracked again.  The wheeling bird suddenly struck the wind with its wings aslant, and then fell like a plummet at a distance which showed the difficulty of the feat.  Falkner started from her side before the bird reached the ground.  He returned to her after a lapse of a few moments, bearing a trailing wing in his hand.  “You shall make your choice,” he said gayly.

“Are you sure it was killed outright?”

“Head shot off,” said Falkner briefly.