148 GRIMALKIN THE CAT 
something uncanny about the way this rabbit ran. 
She came straight towards Grimalkin ; her eyes 
were wide and staring as she glanced behind her, 
and her limbs moved stiffly. Grimalkin drew 
himself together. As she lilted within a yard of 
him, he sprang and struck. The rabbit sobbed, 
and rolled over panting. Beautiful, lithe, cruel, 
Grimalkin leaped upon her and dealt the death blow, 
ere commencing the death-game which the cat kind 
always play over the stricken quarry. He stood 
listening for a moment, and a rustle in the grass 
made him pause. His ear caught the faint unmis- 
takable sound of a hunter who hunts his quarry 
by scent, and who smells fresh blood near at hand. 
Down towards the rabbit stole a stealthy dark 
shape, sniffing as it came upon the line. Keen, the 
stoat, seldom misses his kill, and woe betide the 
beast who crosses his trail ; he hunts for the joy of 
killing, and in the woods they call him in whispers, 
' the Stealthy Death.' The stoat paused and saw 
the dead rabbit, and the cat standing over it with 
a wicked gleam in his small eyes. He squeaked 
once, and then like a bent watch-spring loosed 
flung himself upon his enemy. Had his fangs 
sunk where he intended into the great arteries of 
the neck Grimalkin would speedily 
have lain beside the rabbit ; but 
