For a moment the boy did not heed him, but wept bitterly, and kept repeating,—
“If I could but die—if I could but die!”
Then passing his delicate hands across his brow to part back the clustering hair he looked in the face of the dumb animal, that again with a low whine claimed his attention.
“You love me,” he cried; “yes—yes—I know you love me, my poor dog. I found you starving in this lone house, and made a friend of you. I called you ‘Joy,’ because it was joy to me to find you, and I can talk to you, and fancy that you understand me as you gaze thus at me with your honest face of dumb intelligence. There are two have loved me; you are one, my poor dumb Joy, and the—the other—I shall never—see—again—it was Albert Seyton, and he has left me—even he. Oh, Albert, if I were free as thou art, and thou wert hidden—”
Sinking his head upon his hands, again the beautiful boy burst into tears, and sobbed so bitterly that the dog howled piteously, in unison with its master’s grief.
“Hush—hush, Joy, hush!” said, the boy. “My faithful kind friend, if he had heard you, you would have an unkind word and a blow for this. It is weak of me to give way thus to tears, but my spirits are subdued, and my heart is nearly broken—broken—broken,” he repeated.
Then suddenly starting to his feet, he stood for a few moments in a listening attitude.
“’Tis he,” he suddenly exclaimed. “Too well I know that step.”
In another moment the door opened, and Jacob Gray stood on the threshold of the apartment.
His look was ferocious, and he pointed to the dog as he said, or rather growled in an angry tone,—