And to bed they went, and nothing happening, slept. But very early next morning Isaac was awakened by loud knocking at his door. Then sounded the housekeeper's voice, agitated and frightened.
"Mr. Isaac, sir, Mr. Isaac, will you get up at once, sir!"
"What's the matter?" growled Isaac. "Is the place on fire?"
"That new dog, sir, that Trippett bought yesterday—oh, I do wish you'd come down quick, sir—we're that afraid!"
Isaac suddenly bounced out of bed, bundled on some clothes, and rushed out of his room. On the landing he met Simpson, similarly attired to himself, and very pale.
"I heard her," he said. "Come on!"
They ran down-stairs and through the kitchen to the little yard behind. There stood a group of frightened people—the shepherd, Trippett, a ploughboy or two, the housekeeper, the maid. In their midst, at their feet, lay the unfortunate little collie, dead. And they saw at one glance that his throat had been torn clean out.
Once inside the house again the brothers looked at each other for a long minute without speaking. They were both very pale and their eyes were queer and their hands shook. Simpson spoke first: his voice was unsteady.
"There is something, Isaac," he said, in a low voice. "There is—something!"
Isaac set his teeth and clenched his hands.