“Of course,” cried Mrs Hampton; and they went quickly into the little library, which the new master had affected as soon as he took possession of the place.
A particular odour of spirits and some drug attacked their nostrils as soon as they entered the little room, and their eyes met in an anxious look, but only to be averted as each sought for a letter.
“No,” said Gertrude sadly, “he has not written.”
“It was a sudden thought, my dear, and we shall have one, or a telegram, before long. He is sure to send.”
“He is sure to send,” said Gertrude involuntarily, as a curious chill ran through her, and she turned ghastly pale; for at that moment there came the long, low howl of a dog as if from a great distance, though they felt and knew that it was the faint cry of the wounded beast, and from close at hand—the mournfully strange howl uttered by a dog when it displays that mysterious knowledge of impending or neighbouring death.
Chapter Twenty Two.
Kitchen Opinions.
The cry was so peculiar, and impressed its hearers so painfully, that they stood looking at each other, Gertrude with blanched cheeks, and Mrs Hampton, who had not outgrown the superstitious dread common to most natures suffering from a nervous tremor that she had not felt for years.