which constituted the
sole claim which Torywood possessed to being considered a show place. The
third Earl of Greymarten had collected rare and interesting birds,
somewhere about the time when Gilbert White was penning the last of his
deathless letters, and his successors in the title had perpetuated the
hobby. Little lawns and ponds and shrubberies were partitioned off for
the various ground-loving species, and higher cages with interlacing
perches and rockwork shelves accommodated the birds whose natural
expression of movement was on the wing. Quails and francolins scurried
about under low-growing shrubs, peacock-pheasants strutted and sunned
themselves, pugnacious ruffs engaged in perfunctory battles, from force
of habit now that the rivalry of the mating season was over; choughs,
ravens, and loud-throated gulls occupied sections of a vast rockery, and
bright-hued Chinese pond-herons and delicately stepping egrets waded
among the waterlilies of a marble-terraced tank. One or two dusky shapes
seen dimly in the recesses of a large cage built round a hollow tree
would be lively owls when evening came on.

In the course of his many wanderings Yeovil had himself contributed three
or four inhabitants to this little feathered town, and he went round the
enclosures, renewing old acquaintances and examining new additions.

"The falcon cage is empty," said Lady Greymarten, pointing to a large
wired dome that towered high above the other enclosures, "I let the
lanner fly free one day. The other birds may be reconciled to their
comfortable quarters and abundant food and absence of dangers, but I
don't think all those things could make up to a falcon for the wild range
of cliff and desert. When one has lost one's own liberty one feels a
quicker sympathy for other caged things, I suppose."

There was silence for a moment, and then the Dowager went on, in a
wistful, passionate voice:

"I am an old woman now, Murrey, I must die in my cage. I haven't the
strength to fight. Age is a very real and very cruel thing, though we
may shut our eyes to it and pretend it is not there. I thought at one
time that I should never really know what it meant, what it brought to
one. I thought of it as a messenger that one could keep waiting out in
the yard till the very last moment. I know now what it means. . . . But
you, Murrey, you are young, you can fight. Are you going to be a
fighter, or the very humble servant of the fait accom