THE OUTLAW 127 



dreamed, he was able to imagine the death, 

 and here it is. 



One morning by the lake side stood a 

 gray stump, a tall thing on two stalk-like 

 legs. The gray stump remained motionless, 

 as though watching his own dull image 

 in the water. 



1 1 was a heron fishing. 



He remained still for many minutes. 

 Something passed in the water, a long neck 

 shot forward, and a gleaming fish, pierced 

 by the beak, drawn from the lake. The 

 heron, who had paid a visit every morning 

 from the heronry at Tonbridge, flew away; 

 a slow-flapping, unwieldy thing, over a 

 yard in length. His feet stretched out 

 behind him, his head was tucked in between 

 his shoulders. 



The falcon was about. He stooped at 

 the heron. Perhaps the spirit of ancestors, 

 who left the gauntletted wrists of falconers 

 to fly at the heron of olden times, was about 

 him : for how else should he have dared 



