THE KEEPER'S VISION. 79 
She never saw him till—he found himself 
staring blankly down into the unspeakably 
cruel, half-insolent, wholly inscrutable, green- ' 
yellow eyes of a poaching cat. After sitting 
pheasants she was. 
The pivoting of that cat on herself, the 
instantaneous leap, and the jerk of the well- 
oiled gun to square shoulder were simul- 
taneous. But the keeper fired at the spot 
in the bushes where the cat would vanish— 
not at herself; there was no time for that. 
The heavy report seemed to rip the silent 
mystery of the wood hopelessly for ever, and 
bring all back to everyday life. But—she was 
a beautiful cat. You may see her skin one 
day, if you visit the right house! 
