g when there are
large rocks between which the gazelles can take cover; then the bird
will alight on the rock and wait for the deer to be driven out, and
the deer dreads the eagle so much that sometimes they won't leave
the rocks, and we pick them up in our hands. The instinct of the
eagle is extraordinary, as you will see; the first gazelle was a
doe, and the eagle swept on in front, and, turning rapidly, flew
straight into the hind's face, the talons gathered up ready to
strangle her. But the buck will sometimes show fight, and, not caring
to face the horns, the eagle will avoid a frontal attack and sweep
round in the rear, attacking the buck in the quarters and riding him
to death, just as a goshawk rides a rabbit, seeking out all the
while the vital parts."

"But gazelles are such small deer; now it would be more interesting
with larger deer."

"We killed some larger deer and some sheep, wild sheep I mean, or
goats, it is hard to say which they are; the courage of the birds is
extraordinary, they will attack almost anything, driving the sheep
headlong over the precipices. We caught many a fox. The eagle
strikes the fox with one talon, reserving the other to clutch the
fox's throat when he turns round to bite. Eagles will attack wolves;
wolves are hunted in Mongolia with eagles, the fight must be
extraordinary. One of these days I must go there."

"If Evelyn Innes doesn't return to you."

"One must do something," Owen answered.

"Life would be too tedious if one were not doing something. Have
another cigarette, Harding." And he went to the table and took one
out of a silver box. "Do have one; it comes out of her box, she gave
me this box. You haven't seen the inscription, have you?" And
Harding had to get up and read it; he did this with a lack of
enthusiasm and interest which annoyed Owen, but which did not
prevent him from going to the escritoire and saying, "And in this
pigeon-hole I keep her letters, eight hundred and fifty-three,
extending over a period of ten years. How many letters would that be
a year, Harding?"

"My dear Asher, I never could calculate anything." "Well, let us
see." Owen took a pencil and did the sum, irritating Harding, who
under his moustache wondered how anybody could be so self-centred,
so blind to the picture he presented. "Eighty-five letters a year,
Harding, more than one a week; that is a pretty good average, for
when I saw her every day I didn't write to her."

"I should h