After coffee the gentlemen went aside to light pipes and cigars. The afternoon was well advanced before General DeKay proposed going to the field again. Now and then a quail had been heard whistling in the distance that far-reaching, energetic call of a straggler to his scattered companions. A momentarily freshening breeze was fast brushing from the sky the film of fleece clouds. The ladies voted that they were satisfied with what they had seen, wished the sportsmen a merry afternoon and were driven back across the rustling sedge fields to the old mansion. Reynolds turned, after he had walked some distance, and looked back. The wagon containing the ladies was slowly trundling over a little swell in the field. Mrs. Ransom's face was, he thought, turned toward him. Involuntarily he took off his hat and waved it in the air. Then he saw, or imagined he saw, something white flutter a response from the group in the wagon. This little incident cost him quite dear, for he failed to note, on turning about, that his dogs had come to a stand in the weeds near by. A quail sprang up from his very toes and whirred away quartering to his right, going like a bullet. He fired and missed. Moreton took the bird on a cross shot, stopping it beautifully. Reynolds' dogs looked at him with a sneaking leer in their eyes, as if they felt the disgrace of their master. "That's one debt paid!" Moreton cried. "Credit me, will you?" Reynolds felt no interest in the sport. His vision was introverted, his ears were full of sweet sounds, his heart was beating time to the melody of his day-dream. He went down by the river and lay upon an old mossy drift log, against one end of which the light current rippled sweetly. There was a windy rustle in the reeds and a broad, washing murmur came from the water. He could see but a little distance along the river surface either way, owing to a short bend, and the tall brakes on the banks shut out all else save an occasional report from the guns of his more enthusiastic companions. His dogs came and lay down near him, licking their muscular legs and glossy sides, or nibbling at an occasional burr in their hair. So all the rest of the afternoon he did not fire a shot. It was nearly sundown when he again climbed up the river-bank and turned towards the house, with not a bird to show for the two or three hours spent with dogs and gun. But what to him were the poor trophies of a quail-shoot, now that his passionate nature was stirred to its depths with a love whose fullness and intensity left no room for another feeling or thought? To be near Agnes Ransom, to hear her voice, to gaze into her eyes, to bring the whole force of his will and the fullest power of his eloquence to bear upon her, to win her, to take her, to triumphantly hold her as his own, these were the desires, the purposes surging about in his breast. He walked slowly back towards the DeKay mansion, taking no heed of the beauties of earth or sky.