flight. Sometimes he drove her from cover, and then she wildly

dashed up-hill and down-dale, seeking another thicket; but
wherever she went, the Cardinal was only a breath behind her, and

with every passing mile his passion for her grew.
There was no time to eat, bathe, or sing; only mile after mile of

unceasing pursuit. It seemed that the little creature could not
stop if she would, and as for the Cardinal, he was in that chase

to remain until his last heart-beat. It was a question how the
frightened bird kept in advance. She was visibly the worse for

this ardentcourtship. Two tail feathers were gone, and there
was a broken one beating from her wing. Once she had flown too

low, striking her head against a rail until a drop of blood came,
and she cried pitifully. Several times the Cardinal had cornered

her, and tried to hold her by a bunch of feathers, and compel her
by force to listen to reason; but she only broke from his hold

and dashed away a stricken thing, leaving him half dead with
longing and remorse.

But no matter how baffled she grew, or where she fled in her
headlong flight, the one thing she always remembered, was not to

lead the Cardinal into the punishment that awaited him in Rainbow
Bottom. Panting for breath, quivering with fear, longing for

well-concealed retreats, worn and half blinded by the disasters
of flight through strange country, the tired bird beat her

aimless way; but she would have been torn to pieces before she
would have led her magnificentpursuer" target="_blank" title="n.追赶者；追求者；从事者">pursuer into the wrath of his

enemies.
Poor little feathered creature! She had been fleeing some kind

of danger all her life. She could not realize that love and
protection had come in this splendid guise, and she fled on and

on.
Once the Cardinal, aching with passion and love, fell behind that

she might rest, and before he realized that another bird was
close, an impudent big relative of his, straying from the

Limberlost, entered the race and pursued her so hotly that with a
note of utter panic she wheeled and darted back to the Cardinal

for protection. When to the rush of rage that possessed him at
the sight of a rival was added the knowledge that she was seeking

him in her extremity, such a mighty wave of anger swept the
Cardinal that he appeared twice his real size. Like a flaming

brand of vengeance he struck that Limberlost upstart, and sent
him rolling to earth, a mass of battered feathers. With beak and

claw he made his attack, and when he so utterly demolished his
rival that he hopped away trembling, with dishevelled plumage

stained with his own blood, the Cardinal remembered his little
love and hastened back, confidently hoping for his reward.

She was so securelyhidden, that although he went searching,
calling, pleading, he found no trace of her the remainder of that

day. The Cardinal almost went distracted; and his tender
imploring cries would have moved any except a panic-stricken

bird. He did not even know in what direction to pursue her.
Night closed down, and found him in a fever of love-sick fear,

but it brought rest and wisdom. She could not have gone very
far. She was too worn. He would not proclaim his presence.

Soon she would suffer past enduring for food and water.
He hid in the willows close where he had lost her, and waited

with what patience he could; and it was a wise plan. Shortly
after dawn, moving stilly as the break of day, trembling with

fear, she came slipping to the river for a drink. It was almost
brutal cruelty, but her fear must be overcome someway; and with a

cry of triumph the Cardinal, in a plunge of flight, was beside
her. She gave him one stricken look, and dashed away. The chase

began once more and continued until she was visibly breaking.
There was no room for a rival that morning. The Cardinal flew

abreast of her and gave her a caress or attempted a kiss whenever
he found the slightest chance. She was almost worn out, her

flights were wavering and growing shorter. The Cardinal did his
utmost. If she paused to rest, he crept close as he dared, and

piteously begged: "Come here! Come here!"
When she took wing, he so dexterously intercepted her course that

several time she found refuge in his sumac without realizing
where she was. When she did that, he perched just as closely as

he dared; and while they both rested, he sang to her a soft
little whispered love song, deep in his throat; and with every

note he gently edged nearer. She turned her head from him, and
although she was panting for breath and palpitant with fear, the

Cardinal knew that he dared not go closer, or she would dash away
like the wild thing she was. The next time she took wing, she

found him so persistently in her course that she turned sharply
and fled panting to the sumac. When this had happened so often

that she seemed to recognize the sumac as a place of refuge, the
Cardinal slipped aside and spent all his remaining breath in an

exultant whistle of triumph, for now he was beginning to see his
way. He dashed into mid-air, and with a gyration that would have

done credit to a flycatcher, he snapped up a gadfly that should
have been more alert.

With a tender "Chip!" from branch to branch, slowly, cautiously,
he came with it. Because he was half starved himself, he knew

that she must be almost famished. Holding it where she could
see, he hopped toward her, eagerly, carefully, the gadfly in his

beak, his heart in his mouth. He stretched his neck and legs to
the limit as he reached the fly toward her. What matter that she

took it with a snap, and plunged a quarter of a mile before
eating it? She had taken food from him! That was the beginning.

Cautiously he impelled her toward the sumac, and with untiring
patience kept her there the remainder of the day. He carried her

every choice morsel he could find in the immediate vicinity of
the sumac, and occasionally she took a bit from his beak, though

oftenest he was compelled to lay it on a limb beside her. At
dusk she repeatedly dashed toward the underbrush; but the

Cardinal, with endless patience and tenderness, maneuvered her to
the sumac, until she gave up, and beneath the shelter of a

neighbouring grapevine, perched on a limb that was the Cardinal's
own chosen resting-place, tucked her tired head beneath her wing,

and went to rest. When she was soundly sleeping, the Cardinal
crept as closely as he dared, and with one eye on his little gray

love, and the other roving for any possible danger, he spent a
night of watching for any danger that might approach.

He was almost worn out; but this was infinitely better than the
previous night, at any rate, for now he not only knew where she

was, but she was fast asleep in his own favourite place. Huddled
on the limb, the Cardinal gloated over her. He found her beauty

perfect. To be sure, she was dishevelled; but she could make her
toilet. There were a few feathers gone; but they would grow

speedily. She made a heart-satisfying picture, on which the
Cardinal feasted his love-sick soul, by the light of every

straying moonbeam that slid around the edges of the grape leaves.
Wave after wave of tender passion shook him. In his throat half

the night he kept softlycalling to her: "Come here! Come here!"
Next morning, when the robins announced day beside the shining

river, she awoke with a start; but before she could decide in
which direction to fly, she discovered a nice fresh grub laid on

the limb close to her, and very sensibly remained for breakfast.
Then the Cardinal went to the river and bathed. He made such

delightful play of it, and the splash of the water sounded so
refreshing to the tired draggled bird, that she could not resist

venturing for a few dips. When she was wet she could not fly
well, and he improved the opportunity to pull her broken quills,

help her dress herself, and bestow a few extra caresses. He
guided her to his favourite place for a sun bath; and followed