"No. She left something in the shop, and Dicky ran back for it. And the crowd came between—dog and all. Dick wasn't allowed to leave the shop. Nobody seems to know anything about Nannie. Let me go, Susan."
Susan made no effort to detain her husband.
Handcock said, "I'll come with you, neighbour;" but his movements were too slow for the distracted father. Dunn was gone.
Somebody spoke to Susan, but she made no answer. She could not stand, for her legs shook under her, as if with the palsy, and she crept inside the cottage, and sat down. Both children came close.
"Mother, I wouldn't have left Nannie if I had known the dog was coming," said Dicky. "And I wanted to go to her, but the woman held me tight, and locked the door. I thought Nannie would be so frightened. Do you think the dog has hurt her, mother?"
Susan shook her head, and moaned. She could not shed a tear, and her parched tongue refused to speak.
Somebody's face was put in at the door.
"Here she comes, Mrs. Dunn! All right!" a voice said.
The owner of the voice withdrew, and Nancy entered. She walked with a hasty faltering step, and her face was perfectly white,—lips, cheeks, and all, as colourless as chalk. Close behind followed a tall good-looking young man.
Susan stood up, and took bold of Nancy with a tight grasp. She wanted to ask, "Are you hurt?" but no words came.