He was on the point of obeying his instinct to steal away whilst there was yet time, but irresolution held him back. He half rose; he resettled himself; he wavered again, and finally decided to await the issue. There he sat, watching and hoping that the creature would seek harbourage in the reeds beyond the spot where he had seen it. Minutes passed without a sign, he thought that his hopes were realised; he had almost ceased to scan the pool, when to his dismay the otter rose with a snort within a few yards, and lay motionless with his black bead-like eyes fixed on the island. It was a trying moment for the hare; had he moved ever so slightly the otter must have seen him, but he remained as rigid as the rock beside him; even his nostrils were at rest.
Presently, shaking the water out of her ears, the otter dived, only, however, to reappear with an eel in her mouth and land where the only creek on the islet had often invited her. Scarcely more than her length from the hare she lay down at full length with her head towards the water, and, holding the prey firmly between her fore paws, proceeded to devour it. Her wet coat gleamed when the sun rose across the level waste marking moor and pool with the shadows of the turf-stacks, yet the otter took no notice of the unfriendly rays; she was too much engrossed with her prey. Once she looked up, but no noise had attracted her; the slicing and champing of the flesh by her sharp white teeth was the only sound of that hushed hour. When she had eaten part of the fish, she dropped the remainder, advanced a few inches into the water and washed her muzzle with her great splayed foot, interrupting her ablutions to listen momentarily to the faint echo raised by a train of pack-mules. Then she returned to the islet and rolled on the fern. Now this way, now that, the long sleek creature turned and twisted, approaching dangerously near the little knoll against which the hare was pressed so close as to look scarcely more than half his size. At last, having dried her coat, she sought a clump of osmunda some five lengths from the hare, coiled herself up, and fell asleep.
Now again there was an opportunity for the hare to steal away: surely he would take advantage of it. But no; rather than run the risk of awakening the otter and being pursued, he decided to wait till twilight should call his enemy away and leave the way clear for him to effect his escape. So he sat watching the flank of the otter rise and fall, his gaze never shifting, even when a cormorant rose close to the island and looked at him with its green eyes before resuming its fishing.
Meanwhile the otter lay unconscious of the presence of the bird; but towards sundown the scream of a gull, and again soon after, the croak of a raven caused her suddenly to stir and scan the moor in order to satisfy herself that there was no cause for alarm. A glance telling her that all was well, she immediately lowered her head and dropped off again. The raven that had alighted close to the pool remained till near roosting time, and then flew away in the direction of the cliffs.
The bird was still in sight when an altogether unlooked-for intruder arrived. An old man with a dog at his heels came on the moor driving two donkeys to fetch turf; whilst he was loading the panniers from one of the stacks the terrier trotted to the pool to drink. There he hit the scent left by the otter at dawn. In an instant he was all excitement; being as intelligent as he was keen-nosed, he concluded that the otter must be lying on the island, and his one thought was to get at it. He entered the water and struck out as fast as he could swim. The otter, startled out of her sleep by a shout from the man, was at once on the alert, and when the dog drew near she slipped into the water; but the dog had seen her. Then a strange thing happened; the cormorant chancing to rise in the line of pursuit, the terrier took up the chase of the bird as if ignorant of the change of quarry. His master of course recalled him; he swam to shore; and immediately he landed, the otter, who was watching from the reeds, returned to the island, reaching it in one long dive. She landed at the creek as before, and crouching through the fern stole towards her lair.
She had taken but a step or two when she suddenly stopped, and turning her mask examined the ground to her left. She had caught the scent of the hare; she knew he was close by, and she was doing her utmost to descry him. She looked here, she looked there, and at last, as she was about to advance, she made him out. On the instant she sank slowly to the ground; she feared that quick movement on her part would put the prey to flight before she was free to pursue, for her shy nature restrained her from exposing herself to view of man and dog. So there she stayed, eyeing the timid prey which met her gaze with a frightened stare. Presently the man left with his donkeys. Now surely the otter would try and secure the prize. But no, she was in no hurry; the sun would soon be down, then she would secure him.
In that tense interval the hare again rehearsed, as he had done half a score times since he had been face to face with his enemy, the steps of his escape. The first leap he reckoned would land him on the far side of the islet, the next on the rock, a third in the water, on recollection of the depth of which he endured the agonies of a nightmare as in imagination he saw the ferocious brute overtaking him while he floundered; but the feeling passed, leaving him as undaunted as ever and determined to make a supreme effort to escape.
By this the sun approached the level of the moor; the gulls had left; the cormorant, which had stood and dried its wings on the rock, flew low over the lurid surface of the pool, looking black as the raven against the crimson disc: the actors in the impending tragedy were left absolutely alone. Soon, less than half the great orb remained above the horizon; in a few minutes, which seemed as many hours to the hare, it had sunk to the merest arc; then it disappeared.
This was the instant that the hare awaited; the otter knew it, and the hare saw that she knew it; the sudden gathering of her limbs proclaimed it. With a tremendous bound he was off, with the otter in hot pursuit. It was a close chase; for though the hare gained the rock a good ten feet ahead of the otter and increased his lead to fully fifteen at his next spring, the water, as he had foreseen, impeded his further progress so much that he seemed to be at the mercy of his swiftly advancing enemy. What floundering, what splashing by the hare! What ploughing of the water by the otter in her desperate haste! Foot by foot she gained till at last her nose all but touched his hind legs. It looked as if she must seize him; so she would have done but for a timely rock which gave the hare the foothold he needed. The spring he made from it was one of the longest of his life; it landed him well on to the shallows; two more leaps and he was on the heather, over which he sped like the wind. How good the herbage felt under his feet! Further pursuit was vain; yet the otter, maddened at the loss of the prey she had accounted hers, held on at her best speed to the corner of the pool before checking her steps to watch the hare. He stood awhile and returned her gaze. Then he shook his coat and resumed his way over the darkening moor.