A livid paleness came across Gray’s face as he held by the table, and gasped,—
“Wh—what—do—you mean by that?”
“I say,” repeated Harry, “that dogs never betray their masters.”
“Never betray—their—their masters!” said Gray. “Oh, that is what you mean—that is all?”
“Nay, uncle, what do you mean?” said the boy, surprised at the awful and convulsive agitation of Gray.
“Mean?” echoed Gray—“What can I mean—I—I have said nothing. Recollect—I know I said nothing, I am quite sure.”
“I know not the cause of your agitation,” remarked Harry; “but I cannot have my poor hound injured.”
“He shall die!” shrieked Gray. “Heaven nor hell shall not save him. You don’t know how or why, but you have sealed his fate.”
“I sealed his fate?”
“Yes, you—you, by your prating of his virtues.”