Sir Harry caught up his bird, whipped off his spurs, and thrust him back into the bag.

The old man dropped back, letting his chin sink on his high stock-collar.
"It serves me right.

Who shall deliver me from the wrath to come ?" "Oh! as for that--" Sir Harry finished tying the neck of the bag, and lazily fell to fingering the setter's ear.
The old man was muttering to himself.

Taffy looked at the dead bird, then at Honoria.

She was gazing at it too, with untroubled eyes.
"But I _will_ be saved! I tell you, Harry, I _will!_ Take those birds away.