He would go on towards the farm, at any rate, and see how things stood. Perhaps the dog was not loose that night, or if it were, might recognise him.
So, plucking up his spirits, he ran along the lane towards the little farm, where he had been so happy with his dear dead mother, and towards the quiet churchyard, whose coverlet of green was over her.
He was not long reaching the farm, and went cautiously up to the gate. Not a sound! not a light in any window! There was the great silver moon making everything as bright almost as day, and there was the slow munching of the cows in the adjoining orchard. Harry's heart rose higher. No dog! not a sign of him! He put his hand to open the gate. The latch stuck. He pushed harder; it flew open with a sharp click, and he had not time to listen whether the sound had been heard or no, when a dog's low growl solved the question.
He started back from the gate, which fell to with a loud crash. It was all up now. Out rushed the dog, barking fiercely, and off rushed Harry simultaneously. And naturally enough, too. It is not pleasant to be mauled by a huge mastiff.
Had the idea struck him, he would have kept at a respectful distance, and there waited in hopes that the baying of the dog would disturb the inmates of the house, and that on their coming out to discover the reason, he would gain his object of being let in.
But it is very doubtful whether a much older and, therefore, more thoughtful person than Harry would have considered anything but the fierceness of the dog, and the desirability of getting away as quickly, and as far, as possible.
So Harry bolted down the lane at headlong speed, while the dog, seeing the intruder depart, only uttered a few self-satisfied growls, and returned to his mat in the porch, conscious that he had done his duty. At the same moment, Mrs Valentine opened her window and put out a night-capped head into the moonlight, and craning it all round, to see what was the matter, and seeing nothing extraordinary, put it in again, with a slight shiver.
Good soul! how little she dreamt of the apparently-trifling episode enacted underneath her window! How gladly would she have welcomed the runaway frightened boy! And how different that boy's after life would have been had she but wakened sooner.
Meanwhile, Harry was stopping at the churchyard-gate. He longed to go in. He hesitated. On another occasion, and in his mother's lifetime, he would not have dared to go inside the wicket after dark. But now, now he was going away, he knew not where! Out into the world, and that seemed a very long way off to Harry. It was like another country. Besides, what would hurt him while she was there, he asked himself?
So, without more ado, he passed through the creaking gate, up the lime-tree avenue, heedless of the ghost-like shadows of the tombstones, and the rustle of the fragrant leaves.