Once more the loud barking of a dog, long after the boys had lain down to rest, and Grip was dragging first at Gwyn, then at Joe, seizing their jackets in his teeth and tugging and shaking at them, but with no greater effect than to make Gwyn utter a weary sigh.
The dog barked again and tugged at him, but, finding his efforts of no avail, he stood with his paws resting on his master’s breast, threw up his head, and uttered a dismal long-drawn howl which went echoing along the passages, and a faint shout was heard from far away.
The dog sprang from where he stood, ran a few yards, and stood barking furiously before running back to where Gwyn lay, when he seized and shook him again, and howled, ending by giving three or four licks at his face. Then he threw up his head once more, and sent forth another prolonged, dismal howl.
This was answered by a faintly-heard whistle, and the dog barked loudly over and over again, till a voice nearer now called his name.
All this was repeated till a gleam was seen on the wall, and now the dog grew frantic in his barking, running to and fro, and finally, as voices were faintly heard, and the gleaming of lights grew plainer, he crouched down with his head resting on Gwyn’s breast, panting heavily as if tired out.
“Here, Grip! Grip! Grip! Where are you?” rang out in the Colonel’s voice; and the dog answered with a single bark, repeated at intervals till the lights grew plainer, shadows appeared on the walls, there was the trampling of feet, and a voice said,—
“Hold up, sir; he must be close at hand. The dog keeps in one place, so he must have found them. Here, here, here!”
There was a long whistle, but the dog did not leave his place, only gave a sharp bark; and the next minute lights were being held over the Major and Colonel Pendarve, as they knelt beside their sons, trying all they knew to bring them back to their senses.
Their efforts were not without effect, for after a time Gwyn opened his eyes, stared blankly at the light, and said feebly,—
“Don’t! Let me go to sleep.”