“No fear; I’ve got him too tightly; besides he hasn’t tried. By Jove! he has got his strength again, and no mistake. There, sir, you’re mastered.”
As he spoke, he gave his captive a swing forward, dashed back, and closed the door, just as the dog bounded at it, and tore at the panel, baying furiously.
“Well, I’m in a nice state. But that Saul Harrington! He and the dog must be bad friends.”
“Yes,” said Gertrude, with her voice trembling and deep from agitation, “but you—you are hurt.”
“Not in the least,” he said, catching the hands extended to him in an imploring way. “No, not hurt. So full of happiness to hear you speak like that.”
“Mr Harrington!” she faltered.
“Yes, George Harrington, indeed, indeed,” he cried, with his voice sounding deep and emotional.
“Let us make haste back,” she cried, hurriedly opened the door in the wall, trembling, troubled, pleased—she could not define her sensations; and it was with a sense of relief that she found Mrs Hampton coming toward them.
“Is that dreadful dog locked up safely?” she cried.
“Yes, quite safe; but I had a terrible fight with his lordship,” said George Harrington, coming to his companion’s help. “No fear of his getting well now.”