Presently, irritated, the bird partially unclosed one wing as though to probe with his beak for the seat of his discomfort. At the same time he moved his foot, and the bell rattled on his anklet.
Instantly his aspect changed; stooping he inspected the bell, struck it lightly with his beak as though in recognition.
WAS it the hated whistling bell? Again the curved beak touched it.
And recognition was complete.
Mad all through, disgust, indecision, gave rapid place to nervous alarm. Every quill rose in wrath; the snowy crest stood upright; the yellow eyes flashed fire.
Then, suddenly, the eagle sprang into the air, yelping fierce protest against such treatment: the shrilling of the bell swept like a thin gale through the forest, keener, louder, as the enraged bird climbed the air, mounting, mounting into the dazzling blue above until the motionless watchers in the woods below saw him wheel.
Which way would he turn? 'Round and round swept the eagle in wider and more splendid circles; in tensest suspense the two below watched motionless.
Then the tension broke; and a dry sob escaped the girl.
For the eagle had set his lofty course at last. Westward he bore through pathless voids uncharted save by God alone—who has set His signs to mark those high blue lanes, lest the birds—His lesser children—should lose their way betwixt earth and moon.