“Back directly, my dear,” said the Major, and he hurried round to the other side of the cottage, leaving Dinah standing on the little lawn.
She took a step to follow, but at that moment there was a slight rustling sound from the bushes close at hand, and she stood as if petrified.
But only for a few moments, for directly after her father’s voice came loudly—
“Dinah! Quick! Bring a light.”
Before she could reach the little drawing-room a light flashed out from the door, and Martha, who had heard the words, appeared bringing a lamp.
“Don’t be frightened, Miss Dinah,” she said, as her arm was caught, and they hurried on together to where the dog’s piteous whines could be heard; “the poor thing must be in a fit.”
She was quite right, but it was a fit of agony—the last, for as they reached the kennel where the Major knelt on one knee, the poor dog uttered one short gasping bark, as it stretched itself out more and more, and then there was a sudden snatching, quivering motion, and it seemed to be drawn backward till it formed a curve.
“Father! Oh, poor Rollo!” cried Dinah, going down upon her knees by her old companion’s side; “he is dying.”
“No, my child,” said the Major sternly; and he drew in his breath with a low hiss, and bent down and softly patted the poor beast’s head, smoothing the long silky ears, “he is dead.”
“Dead!” cried Dinah wildly, as she sank upon her knees, and lifted the dog’s head into her lap. “Impossible!”