CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPOUTING JACKET 



or into that cell, almost a parlour, with a Gothic roof 

 formed by large stones leaning one against the other 

 and so arrested, as they tumbled from the frost-riven 

 breast of the precipice. Wait there, though it should 

 be for hours but it will not be for hours; for both 

 the old hawks are circling the sky, one over the marsh 

 and one over the wood. She comes she comes the 

 female Sparrowhawk, twice the size of her mate; and 

 while he is plain in his dress, as a cunning and cruel 

 Quaker, she is gay and gaudy as a Demirep dressed 

 for the pit of the Opera deep and broad her bosom, 

 with an air of luxury in her eyes that glitter like 

 a serpent's. But now she is a mother, and plays a 

 mother's part greedier, even than for herself, for 

 her greedy young. The lightning flashes from the 

 cave-mouth, and she comes tumbling, and dashing, 

 and rattling through the dwarf bushes on the cliff- 

 face, perpendicular, and plumb-down, within three 

 yards of her murderer. Her husband will not visit 

 his nest this day no nor all night long; for a 

 father's is not as a mother's love. Your only chance 

 of killing him, too, is to take a lynx-eyed circuit 

 round about all the moors within half a league; and 

 possibly you may see him sitting on some cairn, or 

 stone, or tree-stump, afraid to fly either hither or 

 thither, perplexed by the sudden death he saw ap- 

 pearing among the unaccountable smoke, scenting it 

 [110] 



