Behind me was the road climbing through a long cleft in the
hills, which was the upper glen of some notable river. In front was
a flat space of maybe a mile, all pitted with bog-holes and rough
with tussocks, and then beyond it the road fell steeply down another
glen to a plain whose blue dimness melted into the distance. To left
and right were round-shouldered green hills as smooth as pancakes,
but to the south--that is, the left hand--there was a glimpse of
high heathery mountains, which I remembered from the map as the
big knot of hill which I had chosen for my sanctuary. I was on the
central boss of a huge upland country, and could see everything
moving for miles. In the meadows below the road half a mile back
a cottage smoked, but it was the only sign of human life. Otherwise
there was only the calling of plovers and the tinkling of little streams.
It was now about seven o'clock, and as I waited I heard once
again that ominous beat in the air. Then I realized that my vantage-
ground might be in reality a trap. There was no cover for a tomtit
in those bald green places.
I sat quite still and hopeless while the beat grew louder. Then I
saw an aeroplane coming up from the east. It was flying high, but
as I looked it dropped several hundred feet and began to circle
round the knot of hill in narrowing circles, just as a hawk wheels
before it pounces.
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