He knew that fellow, a
half-pounder at least, and his thoughts began flighting round the top
of his head, hovering over the various merits of the flies. His fingers
itched too, but he made no movement, and the ash-tree under which he sat
let its leaves tremble, as though in sympathy.
"See that hawk?" said Miltoun.
At a height more than level with the tops of the hills a buzzard hawk
was stationary in the blue directly over them. Inspired by curiosity at
their stillness, he was looking down to see whether they were edible;
the upcurved ends of his great wings flirted just once to show that he
was part of the living glory of the air--a symbol of freedom to men and
fishes.
Lord Dennis looked at his great-nephew. The boy--for what else was
thirty to seventy-six?--was taking it hard, whatever it might be, taking
it very hard! He was that sort--ran till he dropped. The worst kind to
help--the sort that made for trouble--that let things gnaw at them! And
there flashed before the old man's mind the image of Prometheus
devoured by the eagle. It was his favourite tragedy, which he still read
periodically, in the Greek, helping himself now and then out of his
old lexicon to the meaning of some word which had flown to Erebus. Yes,
Eustace was a fellow for the heights and depths!
He said quietly:
"You don't care to talk about it, I suppose?"
Miltoun shook his head, and again there was silence.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140