THE WOUNDED HERON 101 



ever and anon she gazed from the casement on 

 the green courtyard far beneath, where Eenoult 

 with his faithful attendants was busy with his 

 sports. 



Renoult's archery highly pleased the two old 

 men who had taught him how to bend the bow. 

 One after another that winter morning the 

 whistling arrows found the butt ; sometimes 

 they shivered in the '' clout," and Serewulf, 

 the marker, signalling his joy, stepped from 

 beside the beech trunk, and promptly cut a 

 notch for tally in a sapling ash behind the target. 

 The boy, elated by his successes, secretly longed, 

 as he stood upon the battlements, for some 

 chance to prove his skill at a living, moving 

 object. A week before, he had seen old Serewulf 's 

 deadly arrow pierce a grey wild goose that flew 

 at utmost speed along the creek towards the open 

 sea. He hardly believed, though his boyish self- 

 assurance was unlimited, that he could hit a 

 flying goose, but he kept a sharp look-out, and 

 his favourite arrow, specially tipped by the 

 armourer from the fragment of a dagger blade, 

 and flighted with feathers from the bird that 

 Serewulf had recently shot, lay in readiness on a 

 near ledge of stone. The lesson was almost at an 

 end, when suddenly a blue heron rounded the 

 donjon wall, and, alarmed at the sight of Renoult 

 and his companion, rose high above their heads. 



