"Give it to the pers, Van Dorn!" she directed, after a short survey of it; despite its rarity, showing less interest in it than under other circumstances she might have done. "Unhood again, and let them have it. We forgot to bring the doves for them, and they deserve reward for the way they both _bound_ it--so cleverly." Van Dorn, a Hollander from Falconswaerd--whence in those days all falconers came--bowing, proceeded to execute the command, by removing their hoods from the hawks. "Before he surrenders it to their tender mercies, may I ask a favour?" It was Eustace Trevor who interrogated, addressing himself to the young lady. "Of course you may. What is it, sir?" "Leave to appropriate a few of the heron's feathers." "Why, certainly! The falconer will pluck them for you. Van Dorn, pull out some of its feathers, and hand them to this gentleman. I suppose you mean those over the train, Mr Trevor?" "Yes, they." "You hear, Van Dorn." Without that the man knew what was wanted; the loose tail coverts so much prized for plumes; and, drawing them out one by one, he bound them into a bunch with a piece of cord whipped round their shanks; then handed them up to the cavalier. After which he went off to attend upon his hawks. There was a short interregnum of silence as the falconer turned his back on them, and till he was out of earshot. Then the young lady asked, with apparent artlessness,-- "But, Mr Trevor, what do you intend doing with the heron's feathers?" "Pluming my hat with them." "Why, it's plumed already! and by far showier ones!" "Showier they may be; but not prettier, nor so becoming. And certainly not to be esteemed as these; which I shall wear as souvenir of a pleasant time--the pleasantest of my life." There was a pleased expression in her eyes as she listened to what he said; still more when she saw what he did. This, to whip the hat from his head, pluck the _panache_ of ostrich feathers from its _aigrette_ and insert those of the heron in their place. Something he did further seemed also to give her gratification, though she artfully concealed it. Reproach on her lips, but delight in her heart, as she saw him tear the displaced plume into shreds, and toss them to the ground at his horse's feet. "How wasteful you are, Mr Trevor?" she exclaimed, reprovingly. "Those foreign feathers must have cost a great deal of money. What's worse, you've spoiled the look of your hat! Besides, you forget that those now on it came from a conquered bird?" "All the more appropriate for a plume to be worn by me." "Why so, sir?" "Because of my being vanquished, too." "_You_ vanquished, Mr Trevor! When? where? By whom?" she asked, at the same time mentally interrogating herself. Could he be alluding to that combat in which he received the wound brought with him to Hollymead, the story of which had leaked out, though not told by either combatant. Or, was he hinting at conquest of another kind?