love and hastened back, confidently hoping for his reward.

She was so securely hidden, 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