Swiftest of the race of rapine, proud of his strength, proud of
his wings, he rejoiced in a worthy prey. Many and many a Pigeon
had been borne to his nest, and riding the wind he came,
swooping, reserving his strength, awaiting the proper time. Oh,
how well he knew the very moment! Down, down like a flashing
javelin; no wild Duck, no Hawk could elude him, for this was a
Falcon. Turn back now, O Homer, and save yourself; go round the
dangerous hills. Did he turn? Not a whit! for this was Arnaux.
Home! home! home! was his only thought. To meet the danger, he
merely added to his speed; and the Peregrine stooped; stooped at
what?--a flashing of color, a twinkling of whiteness--and went
back empty. While Arnaux cleft the air of the valley as a stone
from a sling, to be lost--a white-winged bird--a spot with
flashing halo--and, quickly, a speck in the offing. On down the
dear valley of Hudson, the well-known highway; for two years he
had not seen it! Now he dropped low as the noon breeze came north
and ruffled the river below him. Home! home! home! and the towers
of a city are coming in view! Home! home! past the great
spider-bridge of Poughkeepsie, skimming, skirting the
river-banks. Low now by the bank as the wind arose. Low, alas!
too low!

What fiend was it tempted a gunner in June to lurk on that hill
by the margin? what devil directed his gaze to the twinkling of
white that came from the blue to the northward? Oh, Arnaux,
Arnaux, skimming low, forget not the gunner of old! Too low, too
low you are clearing that hill. Too low--too late! Flash--bang!
and the death-hail has reached him; reached, maimed, but not
downed him. Out of the flashing pinions broken feathers printed
with records went fluttering earthward. The "naught" of his sea