Other voices joined in the _paean_ of triumph; one of sweet, silver tones, accompanied by the clapping of a pair of pretty hands. They were the same voice and hands that on the top of Ruardean Hill had hounded on the dog Hector in his half-playful demonstration against the donkey. "I knew my pair of `Pers' would do it in good style!" cried Vaga in exultation, for she was the owner of the peregrines. "Did any of you ever see a kill quicker than that?" The interrogatory was put to a trio of individuals beside her, on horseback as herself--one of them her sister, the other two Sir Richard Walwyn and Eustace Trevor. There was an _entourage_ of attendants, the falconer with his helps, mounted grooms, and dogs quartering the sedge-- in short, a complete hawking party from Hollymead House. For, notwithstanding his gentle inclinings, Ambrose Powell was no foe to field sports--rather favoured them when not unnecessarily cruel; and, though rarely indulging in them himself, put no restraint on his daughters' doing so. The younger was passionately fond of hawking, and the elder also relished it in a more sober way--it being then regarded as a proper pastime for ladies. The hawking party, whose incidents we are chronicling, came off some ten days after the arrival of Sir Richard Walwyn and Eustace at Hollymead; the scene being a strip of marsh with a stream filtering through it, here and there a pool where the moor-hen coquettishly flirted her tail-- a favourite haunt of the heron, as of teals, widgeons, and wild ducks. That the knight was still sojourning at Hollymead House need be no matter of surprise; but why the son of Sir William Trevor had not long ere this reported himself under the parental roof, by Abergavenny, may seem a very puzzle. Its explanation must await the record of after events; though; an incident occurring there and then, with speech that accompanied, may throw some light upon it. Vaga's question was rather in the way of an exclamation, to which she did not expect reply. Neither waited for it; but giving the whip to her palfrey trotted off to where the falconer was engaged in releasing the dead heron from the pounces of the hawks. She went not alone, however; Eustace Trevor having pricked his animal with the spur, and started after, soon overtaking her. The other pair stayed behind as they were. A hundred yards or so round the edge of the marsh, and the two who had ridden off came to a halt. For, by this, the falconer having rehooded the hawks, and retrieved the quarry, met them, heron in hand, holding it out to his mistress; as would one, first up at the death of a fox, present Reynard's brush to some dashing Diana of the field. A splendid bird it was; the white heron or great egret, a rare species, even then, though not so rate as now.