The rosy dawn was just stealing into the room, next morning, when Marian awoke with a vague, uncertain feeling as to where she was, or what had happened. Ere long, however, she remembered it all; and, stepping upon the floor, she glided to the window, to feast her eyes once more upon her home. Before her lay the garden, and though the November frosts had marred its Summer glory, it was still beautiful to her; and, hastily dressing herself, she went forth to visit her olden haunts, strolling leisurely on until she reached a little Summer-house which had been built since she was there. Over the door were some pencil marks, in Frederic’s hand writing; and though the rains had partly washed the letters away, there were still enough remaining for her to know that “Marian Lindsey” had been written there.
“He has sometimes thought of me,” she said; and she was about entering the arbor, when there rose upon the air a terrific yell, which, had she been an intruder, would have sent her flying from the spot. But she did not even tremble, and she awaited fearlessly the approach of the huge creature, which, bristling with rage, came tearing down the graveled walk, his eyeballs glowing like coals of fire, and his head lowered as if ready for attack.
Bruno was still on guard, and when, in the distance, he caught a sight of Marian, he started with a lion like bound, which soon brought him near to the brave girl, who calmly watched his coming, and, when he was close upon her, said to him:
“Good old Bruno! Don’t you know me, Bruno?”
At the first sound of her voice, the fire left the mastiff’s eye, for he, too, caught the tone which had once so startled Alice, and which puzzled Frederic every day; still, he was not quite assured, and he came rushing on, while she continued speaking gently to him. With a bound, half playful, half ferocious, he sprang upon her, and, catching him around the neck, she passed her hand caressingly over his shaggy mane, saying to him, softly,
“I am Marian, Bruno! Don’t you know me?”
Then, indeed, he answered her—not with a human tongue, it is true; but she understood his language well, and by the low, peculiar cry of joy he gave as he crouched upon the ground, she knew that she was recognised. Of all who had loved her at Redstone Hall, none remembered her save the noble dog, who licked her face, her hair, her hands, her dress, her feet; while all the time his body quivered with the intense delight he could not speak.
At last as she knelt down beside him, and laid her cheek against his neck, he bent his head, and gave forth a deep, prolonged howl, which was answered at a little distance by a cry of horror, and turning quickly Marian saw Frederic hastening toward the spot, his face pale as ashes, and his whole appearance indicative of alarm. He had been roused from sleep by the yell which Bruno gave when he first caught sight of Marian, and ere he had time to think what it could be, Alice knocked at his door, exclaiming:
“Oh, Frederic, Miss Grey, I am sure, has gone into the garden, and Bruno is not yet secured. I heard him bark just like he did last year when he mangled black Andy so. What if he should tear Miss Grey?”
Frederic waited for no more, but dressing himself quickly he hastened out, sickening with fear, as he came upon the fresh tracks the dog had made when going down the walk. He saw Marian’s dress, and through the lattice he caught a sight of Bruno.