418 BIRD LIFE AT BINGHAM'S MELCOMBE 



one distraught, he dashed away to the edge of the 

 gravel drive, and then, as quickly, dashed back 

 again, to go through the same mournful processes. 

 Sometimes he would fly right off, in wavering, 

 uncertain flight, as far as the eye could follow 

 him, as though he could bear the sight no longer ; 

 but, without stopping to rest, he hurried back in 

 straighter and quicker flight, unable to tear himself 

 away, or in the vain hope that something might have 

 happened in his absence. This long-drawn tragedy, 

 this abandonment of grief, I watched from the 

 window, throughout the afternoon, till darkness 

 came on. Next morning, the body had disappeared, 

 and I saw the survivor no more. 



