THE WOUNDED HEEON 109 



separable from life within the moated fortress 

 by the creek. One side of the dingle, sloping 

 steeply to a brook that poured in dancing 

 torrent over the shale on a fringe of the moor- 

 land far up the valley, faced the south, and 

 caughfc each ray of sunlight as in a trap of golden 

 gorse and bronze and emerald fern. Lying amid 

 the undergrowth near the crest of the slope, the 

 boy could command such an uninterrupted view 

 of every part of the dingle that not a single bird 

 could enter it without his knowledge. Immedi- 

 ately beneath him, the brook flowed into a little 

 lake, where, amid the flags and rushes, the trout 

 glanced gaily as they rose to the incautious flies. 

 Like Renoult, the heron loved this solitude. 

 But she knew far more of the trout and their 

 ways than the boy could ever learn. Day after 

 day the heron came to the brook ; and whenever 

 the sun shone bright Renoult watched from his 

 retreat amid the golden gorse, till he believed 

 he understood his wild pet's ways, and the 

 bird seemed gradually to regard his presence 

 with as little fear as that with which she viewed 

 the wandering sheep amid the fern. At first 

 her visits to the brook were frequent and hasty. 

 She waded up or down the stream ; she seldom 

 captured a fish ; chiefly her attentions were 

 bestowed on frogs and worms. Once Eenoult 

 saw her fly away with a long grass-snake in her 



