WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
and soul were concentrated on his object as he 
peered over the edge of the quarry into the pool. 
Every movement of the bird thrilled through 
his being : he watched so intently that to his 
wearied eyes the bird seemed to grow large and 
luminous in the gloom. He thrust the gun 
barrels through the fence. His eyes were dim 
and rheumy as he took aim. He had waited 
many nights for this, but now that he had his 
chance he did not feel exultant, but only very 
content. The devils who had followed him 
from the mountain seemed to have left him 
now. He was quite sane. His gun was loaded, 
and he crooked his finger round the trigger, 
but though it seemed to him that he pressed 
hard yet he could not fire it. His hands trembled 
so much that the gun barrel jangled the wire 
paling and he wondered that the heron-devil 
did not hear. What would happen when he 
fired ? Would the Corr iasc die ? or would he 
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