“Where is that dog of yours?” said Bertie.
Faradeane nodded toward the back of the house.
“In the kennel,” he said.
“Let him loose—do now! I am sure——Come and let us get him.”
They went round to the back and loosened the dog. Both of them went, which was a mistake, for if one of them had remained behind he would have seen Seth, the gypsy, glide out from among the shrubs and vault over the low palings.
The dog bounded across the garden, destroying the flowers, and growling angrily; but after sniffing about for a minute or two, he came back and licked Faradeane’s hand.
“There was no one,” he said. “Good-night.”
“Good-night,” said Bertie. “I trust you with my future happiness, old fellow.”
“I shall not betray you,” was the low-voiced response.
Then he sent the dog back to his kennel, and returned to the parlor.