Her eyes traveled to an old-fashioned clock that hung above the mantel; it was not yet seven o’clock.
The sound outside was an odd one; scarcely could she imagine it made by Memory Frean.
Tory was still tired and anxious, more so than she had been during her long vigil. Never had she read so much and for so long a time and certainly not under such circumstances.
“Memory, is it you?” the girl’s voice called.
The following instant a huge body flung itself against the door so that the little house shook with the impact.
Tory had the good sense to cross over to the window. More fully awake and with daylight come, she had less sense of nervous fear.
The snow outside lay nearly level with the window sill, although it had ceased to fall. The morning air was clear and shining. The white arms of the trees were outstretched as if in benediction.
Unable to see through the frosted glass, Tory partly raised the window.
She gave a little cry as the figure bounded from the door to the window. The cry was not of fear but of amused relief.
The early morning intruder was a dog that lived in the neighborhood and was an especial friend of Miss Frean’s. She it was who had named him “The Emperor.”