in march, as the days lengthened, the sun grew warmer; the snow darkened and thawed; the twilight grew balmy; and the wolf-packs stirred, while prey became more abundant, for now all the forest denizens felt the overwhelming, entrancing throb of spring, and wandered through the glades, down the ravines and into the woods, powerless under the sway of the early spring-time langour; and it was easy to catch them.

the male-bird brought all his kill to his mate—he ate little himself: only what she left him, usually the entrails, the flesh of the thoracic muscles, the skin and the head, although she usually pecked out the eyes as the most savoury portion.

the sun was bright. there was a soft, gentle breeze. at the bottom of the ravine the dark, turbulent brook rushed gurgling between the sharp outlines of its snow-laden banks.

it was cool. the male-bird sat roosting with his eyes closed, his head sunk deep into his shoulders. outwardly he bore a look of great humility, of languishing expectation, and a droll look of guiltiness wholly unbecoming to his natural severity.

at dusk he grew restless. he stood up on his feet, stretched his neck, opened wide his round eyes, spread out his wings, beating the air with them: then closed them again. curling up into a ball, drawing his head into his shoulders and blinking, he croaked:

"oo-hoo-hoo-hoo!" the rueful cry scared the forest denizens.

and the echo in the ravine answered back:

"oo-oo…"

the twilight was green, merging into blue. the sky was spangled with great glowing stars. the pine-trees exhaled an oily odour. in the night-frost, the brook at the bottom of the ravine grew still. somewhere, caught in its current, birds were crying. yet all was in a state of watchful calm.

when at length the night set in, the male stealthily and guiltily approached the female in the nest, cautiously spreading his big, awkward feet, which were so clumsy on the ground . . . a great and beautiful passion urged him to the side of his mate.

he perched beside her, smoothing her feathers with his bill, still with that droll absurd look of guilt. the female responded to his caresses; she was very soft and tender; but behind this tenderness could be detected her great strength and power over the male: perhaps she realized it herself.

in the language of instinct, she said to her mate:

"yes, you may."

the male succumbed to his passion, and she yielded to him.