Rags mounted the steps and sat down, looking disconsolately around. He did not care for this place, fine though it might be. He was dreadfully tired. The front door was open, but he had no desire to investigate.
Charles dismounted and went into the house. It struck him as strange that the front door should be open so early in the morning. He had noticed the deserted look of this part of the town, and he felt the chill of fear grip his heart. Had the cholera reached her ahead of him? Was it in this town? Even in this house?
As Dawn had done, he looked into the empty rooms.
Rags got up and limped to the door after him, snuffed around, and then suddenly gave a short, sharp bark, and was off with his nose to the ground. He disappeared among the rose-bushes down the garden-path, and his young master sprang off his horse and hastened after him.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Quickly as Dan followed, Rags was before him, with his sharp, peculiar bark, and then a sudden low whine of fear or trouble. The boy's heart stood still, and he hurried the faster. Rags came whining to his feet as he reached the arbor. And then Dan saw her.
She lay sleeping on the pile of comfortables, in her little white frock, with the spray of roses in her hand and a slight tinge of color in her cheek, like the flush on a half-open rosebud. The comb had fallen from her hair, and the beautiful curls lay tumbled out upon the pillow in lovely confusion.
The boy gazed with awe, and then turned his head reverently away. But Rags went whining about her feet again.
Dan signed to the dog to be still, and, bending over with sudden anxiety, watched to see if she were breathing naturally.
Gently as a child she slept, and the roses trembled with her soft breathing. His heart leaped with joy.