"I will get to the bottom of this," thought I, "though the scoundrel has put the wall between us." For I knew not at all how to open that door, even if it seemed desirable. With a quick step, therefore, I retraced my course, while Kuban and Orla came after me, sniffing my track with happy puffs, to be sure of something wholesome. Keeping clear of the dwellings, I went back along the wall, to investigate the corner from which that demon of mystery had emerged. What superstition can there be in a Winchester and New College man, who has eaten for the Bar, and knows something of Stockbrokers, and as much as is good of Solicitors? But it is better to avoid such subjects now.
Both dogs lay down at a certain spot, where a narrow track just visible across the grass began; perhaps they were forbidden to come further down that way. But I went on, treading gingerly, until I was stopped by a pair of wire-doors. It was rather dark still, but not so murky as it had been, for the moon began to lift herself a little through the mist. As her faint light came glimmering over the black wall, I began to see what the little structure was, and how it was sheltered and protected overhead. Dariel had told me that she was very fond of birds, and had some beauties of her own; and no doubt this was where she kept them. Now if that hateful fellow with the strange headgear came out of this enclosure, as appeared too manifest, it was equally plain that he must have been inside it; and what could he be doing in this aviary so late, unless the fair owner herself were there?
My wrath and indignation knew no bounds. If I were being treated in this perfidious way, what steps could be too strong or too insidious, if they led to the confusion of the traitors? Though the dogs were as silent as if they were carved in stone, I went back to them and threatened them with quick and painful death, if they dared to enquire into my proceedings. Then by a little reconnoitring I found a corner of the netting which formed the outer fence, from which I could see into the inner room, which had been impossible from the gate. I could have opened that gate perhaps, but not without noise enough to attract attention; and now I could see as well as if I were inside, for the wire-mesh made no difference.
At the end of the room which was nearest to me, and only a few yards from the corner I had found, sat Dariel herself, with a purple cloak on, or a mantle, or jacket—I never know the proper words, and it makes no difference, except to women. Of the colour, I could not be sure by that light; except that it was deep, and rich, and grand, and her white neck shone forth it, like a hyacinth from dark tulips. There were two candles burning on a rustic round table, and she, with her forehead gleaming softly, kept her left hand partly closed, while the other hand went round and round as if it were winding something slowly upon some little object which I could not see; for around it fell the shadowy tresses which had so often baffled me in quest of a sweet glance from her eyes. Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of a very delicate and straight nose (the beauty of which has never been surpassed), and once or twice there came into view the perfection of a chin, a soft harmony conducting from the roses of the lips to the lilies of the neck. All this was very lovely, and my heart was wild about it; though my mind was fierce the other way, that none was ever to be mine. For whom had she arrayed herself in that homicidal beauty?
But while I was grinding my teeth and wrinkling my forehead into wire-work, she softly turned her gentle face, and my rage was gone as darkness flies when the quiet moon arises. There were great tears rolling, and wet eyes beaming, and the pity of a world of sadness speaking in the eloquence of a silent mouth. Also with love's vaticination I seemed to discover terror there, and the call for some strong form to shield her from troubles and dangers menacing. "There has been no flirtation here," thought I. "What a jealous fool I am! In this there must be some dark distress. How could I think so of my Dariel!" And when I beheld the next thing she did, my self-reproach grew deeper.
For she opened the curve of her left palm, slowly and softly in fear of rash release, keeping the fingers of the other hand in readiness for repression; and there I saw, with his green fluff panting in a velvet cradle, a small bird of bright plumage, with enquiring eyes regarding her. He seemed to know her for his best friend, and though taken aback by misfortune, to trust this member of the human race to do all that mankind could do for him.
Made of hard stuff as I am, I do not feel ashamed to say, that the pity which is in all of us, drew straws from the candle and made bars along the mist, when I saw what the girl I loved had done. That poor little bird had a broken leg, newly broken by violence, and Dariel had been gently binding the splintered shank together, with cotton wool and a reel of silk, as I could see on the table, and a strip of cane from a chair hard by; and now she was shaking one finger at him, to let him know that fluttering is no remedy for affliction.
But why did she cry so? She ought to be smiling and looking glad, when the little chap's mate flew down so kindly, and perched on the reel of silk to comfort him, and then fluttered round and round him with her wings drooped down, and a tenderness of cooing which almost set him on his legs again; for they were a pair of what are called "lovebirds," of whom, if one hops the final twig, the other pines into the darkness and dies. So at least the story of the bird-men goes, although that excess of fidelity may be beyond the faith of other men.
Tell me not that love is blind. It has the swiftest of all sight. It flies to its conclusion straighter than the truest lovebird. I saw why Dariel could not smile at the success of her own skill: the tears on her cheeks were not of pity only, but of anger at human brutality. That fellow had done it, that miscreant whom even the dogs of his native land abhorred—Prince Hafer had broken the pretty lovebird's leg! A rapid conclusion of mine, but the right one; as became manifest, before many days had passed.
Blessedness and bitterness at once possessed me. Would she ever accept such a wicked beast as that? And when should I have the delight of breaking—not his leg, that would not be half enough, but the haughty head that he was carrying so high? I felt the black fury of the Caucasus itself rising in a breast of the quiet Surrey stock. Cruelty to anything that lives is loathsome; but cruelty to a little trusting pet, lent us by the Father to teach us loving-kindness, and that pet the darling of a sweet and gentle maiden! One more look at her—she has put him to his roost in a soft warm corner where he can make no pretence to hop, but the partner of his pain can feed him.