They brought up there perforce just as overhead the hawk stooped for the third time. Twice before it had raked wide, but now a hoarse cry from the heron announced the strike almost before it could be seen, then both birds plumbed down to earth, the spread of the falcon's great wings, steadying the fall. One of the four grooms that followed sprang down, lure in hand, to recapture the hawk and retrieve the game. Bellarion looked on in silence with brooding eyes, heedless of the satisfaction the Countess was expressing with almost childish delight. 'A brave kill! A brave kill!' she reiterated, and looked to him in vain for agreement. A frown descended upon the white brow of that petulant beauty, rendered by vanity too easily sensitive to disapproval and too readily resentful. Directly she challenged him. 'Was it not a brave kill, Bellarion?' He roused himself from his abstraction, and smiled a little. He found her petulance amusing ever, and commonly provoked her by the display of that amusement. 'I was thinking of another heron that almost fell a victim here.' And he told her that this was the spot on which he had met the dogs. 'So that we're on holy ground,' said she, enough resentment abiding to provoke the sneer. But it went unheeded. 'And from that my thoughts ran on to other things.' He pointed across the river. 'That way I came from Montferrat.' 'And why so gloomy about that? You've surely no cause to regret your coming?' 'All cause, indeed, for thankfulness. But one day I shall hope to return, and in strength enough to hood a hawk that's stooping there.' 'That day is not yet. Besides, the sun is sinking, and we're far from home. So if you're at the end of your dreams we had best be moving.' There was a tartness in her tone that did not escape him. It had been present lately whenever Montferrat was mentioned. It arose, he conceived, from some misunderstanding which he could not fathom. Either to fathom or to dispel it, he talked now as they rode, unfolding all that was in his mind, more than he knew was in his mind, until actual utterance discovered it for him. 'Are you telling me that you have left your heart in Montferrat?' she asked him. 'My heart?' He looked at her and laughed. 'In a sense you may say that. I have left a tangle which I desire one day to unravel. If that is to have left my heart there ...' He paused. 'A Perseus to deliver Andromeda from the dragon! A complete knight-errant aflame to ride in the service of beauty in duress! Oh, you shall yet live in an epic.' 'But why so bitter, lady?' wondered Bellarion. 'Bitter? I? I laugh, sir, that is all.' 'You laugh. And the matter is one for tears, I think.' 'The matter of your love-sickness for Valeria of Montferrat?' 'My ...' He gasped and checked, and then he, who a moment ago had gently chided her for laughing, himself laughed freely. 'You are merry on a sudden, sir!'