vertaken
them--"_Hare! hare! Mark hare?_" The major jumped round, put up his gun,
and banged away--shooting far ahead in his eagerness. Macleod looked on,
and did not even raise his gun.

"That comes of talking," the major said, gloomily. "And you--why didn't
you shoot? I never saw you miss a hare in my life."

"I was not thinking of it," Macleod said, indifferently.

It was very soon apparent that he was thinking of something other than
the shooting of pheasants or hares; for as they went from one wood to
another during this beautiful brief November day he generally carried
his gun over his shoulder--even when the whirring, bright-plumaged birds
were starting from time to time from the hedgerows--and devoted most of
his attention to warning his friend when and where to shoot. However, an
incident occurred which entirely changed the aspect of affairs. At one
beat he was left quite alone, posted in an open space of low brushwood
close by the corner of a wood. He rested the butt of his gun on his
foot; he was thinking, not of any pheasant or hare, but of the beautiful
picture Gertrude White would make if she were coming down one of these
open glades, between the green stems of the trees, with the sunlight
around her and the fair sky overhead. Idly he watched the slowly
drifting clouds; they were going away northward--by and by they would
sail over London. The rifts of blue widened in the clear silver; surely
the sunlight would now be shining over Regent's Park. Occasionally a
pheasant came clattering along; he only regarded the shining colors of
its head and neck brilliant in the sunlight. A rabbit trotted by him; he
let it go. But while he was standing thus, and vaguely listening to the
rattle of guns on the other side, he was suddenly startled by a quick
cry of pain: and he thought he heard some one call, "Macleod! Macleod!"
Instantly he put his gun against a bush, and ran. He found a hedge at
the end of the wood; he drove through it, and got into the open field.
There was the unlucky major, with blood running down his face, a
handkerchief in his hand, and two men beside him, one of them offering
him some brandy from a flask. However, after the first flight was over,
it was seen that Major Stuart was but slightly hurt. The youngest member
of the party had fired at a bird coming out of the wood; had missed it;
had tried to wheel round to send the second barrel after it; but his
feet, having sunk into the wet clay, had