"Yes. He went back to the shop. What can have become of him?" asked Nancy, in distress.
"They'll have kept him there, you may be sure of that. I'll just get you home, and then go to see after him. Don't be frightened," Archie urged once more.
"It was so dreadful!" Nancy whispered. "I can't thank you. Father will."
"Isn't his name Dunn?" asked Archie, putting a very unnecessary question. "I walked home with him to-day. My name's Stuart, and he used to know my father; but I dare say he didn't think of mentioning me?"
Nancy was unable to give the answer which Archie desired. She could remember nothing at that moment except the mad dog, her own past peril, and her fears about Dick.
A few minutes brought them to Woodbine Cottage, where Dick was found to have arrived before them. And while Nancy was still sobbing, and Susan looking stupefied, and Archie standing by, half proud, yet embarrassed, Dunn walked in.
He had been told outside of Nancy's return, "looking as white as paper," one woman said, "and scarce able to drag herself along." Nobody seemed to be sure whether she had entirely escaped injury. Dunn heart was filled with a terrible foreboding.
"Nannie!" he said hoarsely, "Is anything wrong?" Then he turned to Archie. "Tell me the worst," he muttered.
"She's not hurt," Archie answered quickly. "She's not hurt, indeed; only frightened. The dog didn't touch her; I give you my word for it, he didn't. She'll be all right presently."
"Nannie, he speaks the truth?" pleaded poor Richard Dunn, hardly able to believe what he heard.