"Mother, do you see this? Well, I've got it ready—"
"O Mark!" interrupted his mother in horror. "When did you get that deadly thing: I beg of you, put that pistol up at once; the very sight of it terrifies me."
Mark laughed and replied, "I'll fix old Dame Flannagan's dog, mother, and then I'll put it away. She hid the dog from the police, but she can't keep it hid always. I shall kill it on sight, and go prepared to do so. I have vowed I would."
"Let the dog alone, son, you may get into trouble if you do not," replied his mother.
"Indeed, I will not let the dog alone," replied Mark indignantly, as he drew nearer to the bed whereon the suffering little sister lay, with lacerated arm and burning brow. "To think of this dear child, as she was innocently trundling her hoop along the side-walk, being attacked by that savage brute, and her life so narrowly saved! Indeed, I'll not let it alone. I'll shoot it the first time I set eyes upon it, and the old hag had better not say anything to me after I have done it. Poor little darling!
"What shall brother Mark bring his little sister today?" continued the fond brother, stooping over and kissing the child again and again, before leaving for the office of the shipping firm, of which he had just been made a partner.
"Yes, mother," he continued, slipping the weapon of death into the inner pocket of his coat, "I am not a warlike man, as you know, but I'll carry this," pointing to the pistol, "till I kill that dog, sure;" and adjusting his coat and hat he passed out of the house.
Rabbi Abrams did not reside among the palatial residences of the Queen City. A rather restricted income compelled him to find a more unpretentious home than was perhaps in keeping with his avocation and position in life. Yet, carrying into practice the teaching he set forth, to "owe no man anything," and never live beyond one's income, he established his home in a portion of the city that was rather characterized by low rents than aristocratic abodes. However, they were respectable, and comfortably situated withal. Immediately adjoining the rabbi's house lived a garrulous old Irish woman, at once the aversion and dread of the neighborhood. Old Margery O'Flannagan needed no protection against the incursions of depredators, beyond the use of her own venomous tongue; still, she further strengthened her ramparts by the aid of a dog of most savage and ferocious propensities, that she dignified by the ominous name of "Danger." Between her and Danger there existed the strongest bond of friendship, if not affection. In an unexpected manner, this savage dog had assaulted the little daughter of the rabbi, and when the father demanded the life of the dog at the hands of the police, she hid him away out of reach, and swearing like a pirate, threatened to kill any man that dared molest Danger.
CHAPTER XV.
LEAH MORDECAI sat alone in her bed chamber. A bright fire glowed within the grate, and the gas-light overhead added its mellow brightness to the apartment. Arrayed in a comfortable crimson silk wrapper, the girl sat before the fire, with her slippered foot upon the fender, and gazed steadily and thoughtfully into the fantastic coals. Without, the world was cold and bright, for a pale, tremulous moon filled the world with its beauty. The wind came in across the sea, and mingling with the murmur of the waters, produced a weird and ghost-like sound, as it swept through half-deserted streets, penetrating rudely the abodes of poverty, and whistling around the mansions of the rich. This sound Leah heard faintly, as it sought ingress at her windows, and down the half-closed chimney. She shuddered; yet it was not an unusual or a frightful sound, and not half so saddening as the sound that floated up the stairs: the sound of low, sweet singing-Mark Abrams singing with flute-like voice to her sister Sarah, who was soon, very soon, expected to become his wife. Leah had heard that voice before, had listened to its melody, attuned to other words, and as she recalled the vanished time, she trembled, shuddered, with an indefinable terror.