"DOWN, BRUNO! DOWN!"
"No, Denton; he does not seem to get better," said Gertrude, as she
knelt beside Bruno in the stable, the dog resting his muzzle in her
hand, while he blinked patiently; and, from time to time, uttered a very
human sigh.
"Oh, but he is better, my dear, and gradually growing stronger. He ate
quite a big basin of bread and milk this morning."
"So cruel to injure a poor dumb beast like that."
"Yes, my dear; but I'll be bound to say Bruno left his mark upon whoever
it was, and serve him right."
The dog whined uneasily, and opened his eyes to stare about him, as if
he had been half dreaming, and imagined there was something near.
"Poor Bruno, then?" said Gertrude caressingly. "Denton, doesn't all
this seem very strange to you about--about--"
"Master George, my dear? Well, yes; but I can hardly forgive myself for
thinking that other was the darling little fellow I was so proud to have
in the house. But there, we are all right now."
Gertrude signed.
"Why, my dear, you oughtn't to do that. Now, if it was the other, with
his dreadful ways of sitting up with Mr Saul over the whiskey, and the
finding him asleep in his chair at seven o'clock in the morning, you
might sigh."
"Hush, Denton," said Gertrude colouring, as she softly laid down the
dog's heavy head, with the effect that the poor beast whined.
"Now, I tell you what I should do if I were you, Miss Gertie," continued
the old woman. "Dogs are a deal like human beings when they're ill."
"What do you mean, Denton?"
"Why, poor Bruno has been shut up in this dark stable and wants fresh
air. If I were you, I should go and get a book, and then lead the dog
right down to the bottom of the garden, to the old seat under the yew
hedge, and you could read in the shade while he lies down in the sun."
"Denton, you ought to have been a duchess," cried Gertrude; "you dear,
clever old thing. Lie still, Bruno, and I'll be back directly."
Full of her idea, Gertrude ran into the drawing-room for a book; told
Mrs Hampton, who was writing letters, what she was about to do; and,
catching a sunshade from the hall-stand, she was back in the stable
before five minutes had elapsed.
It was no easy task, though, to get the dog down to the bottom lawn.
The poor beast, evidently in a drowsy way, approved of the change; but
at the end of every few yards he lowered his head, and stood as if going
to sleep on his outstretched legs. At such times Gertrude felt disposed
to give up; but invariably as she came to this determination the dog
seemed to revive, and slowly followed her again.
The old rustic chair was reached at last, and Bruno lay down, in the
full sunshine, upon the soft turf; while his mistress settled herself in
a well-clipped nook of the great yew hedge, which separated the bottom
of the garden from the meadows, across which ran a footpath, forming a
short cut to the station.
The flies troubled the dog a little, but he was soon apparently
sleeping, basking in the sun; though the opening of one eye every time a
leaf was turned over by his mistress told that he never lost
consciousness.
Gertrude read a page or two of her book, and then began reading page
after page of her life; and there was a curious feeling of wonderment as
she went on, thinking of Saul's advances, and the horror with which they
had inspired her; then of the coming of him who called himself George
Harrington, the man she had tutored herself that it was her duty to
love, with the result that the chivalrous being she had expected to see
had completely disillusionised her; and her duty had become a pain.
She wondered, as she thought of his embraces, of the drink-poisoned
breath, and the horror of his self-inflicted illness, and what followed.
It was all oppressive and strange. It had seemed as if her life was to
be one long act of self-devotion, with clouds surrounding her, and her
heart aching painfully over the fate from which there seemed to be no
escape.
Then, all at once, in a way that seemed to frighten her, the sunshine
had burst the clouds, and dazzled her with its effulgence. She felt a
strange kind of joy, that the hero she had painted in her heart could
not even compare with the frank, manly, chivalrous fellow who had come
and boldly declared the other to be an impostor.
"Was this the first dawning of love?" she asked herself, as the warm
blood mantled in her cheeks; and she wondered whether it was unmaidenly
and strange to think so warmly of the man who had been selected to be
her husband.
She had just come to the conclusion that it would be possible to love
such a one as this, when there was a faint rustling sound beyond the
hedge, as of a footstep in the grass, and a voice said thoughtfully:
"I wonder whether she ever comes down here." A low, deep growl from
Bruno followed; and, without thinking that her words might be heard,
Gertrude cried:
"Down, Bruno! down!"