It's not
'nevermore' with me. I've many a good day ahead and don't you dare tell
me I haven't."
Came the solemn and changeless hoot of the owl in reply.
Harry's exertions and excitement had brought too much blood to his head
and he was seeing red. He raised himself upon his elbows and stared
at the owl which stared back from red rimmed eyes, cold, emotionless,
implacable. He had been terribly shaken, and now a superstitious fright
overcame him. The raven and the albatross were in his mind and he
murmured under his breath passages from their ominous poems. The scholar
had his raven, the mariner had his albatross and now he alone in the
forest had his owl, to his mind the most terrible bird of the three.
Came again that solemn and warning cry, the most depressing of all in the
wilderness, while the changeless and sinister eyes stared steadily at
him. Then Harry remembered that he had a rifle, and he sat up. He would
slay this winged monster. There was light enough for him to draw a bead,
and he was too good a marksman to miss.
He dropped the muzzle of the rifle in a sudden access of fear as he
remembered the albatross. A shiver ran through every nerve and muscle,
and so heavily was he oppressed that he felt as if he had just escaped
committing murder.
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