Chapter Thirty Two.
“Down, Bruno! Down!”
“No, Denton; he does not seem to get better,” said Gertrude, as she knelt beside Bruno in the stable, the dog resting his muzzle in her hand, while he blinked patiently; and, from time to time, uttered a very human sigh.
“Oh, but he is better, my dear, and gradually growing stronger. He ate quite a big basin of bread and milk this morning.”
“So cruel to injure a poor dumb beast like that.”
“Yes, my dear; but I’ll be bound to say Bruno left his mark upon whoever it was, and serve him right.”
The dog whined uneasily, and opened his eyes to stare about him, as if he had been half dreaming, and imagined there was something near.
“Poor Bruno, then?” said Gertrude caressingly. “Denton, doesn’t all this seem very strange to you about—about—”