"I stand corrected; thank you, Miss Blake. You heard a screech, in short, and you hurried across the hall, and found Miss Elmsdale in a fainting condition, on the floor of the library. Was that so?"
"She often fainted: she is all nairves," explained poor Miss Blake.
"No doubt. And when she regained consciousness, she entreated to be taken out of that dreadful room."
"She never liked the room after her father's death: it was natural, poor child."
"Quite natural. And so you took her into the dining-room, and there, curled upon the hearthrug, fast asleep, was the little dog she fancied she heard whining in the library."
"Yes, he had been away for two or three days, and came home hungry and sleepy."
"Exactly. And you have, therefore, no reason to believe he was shamming slumber."
"I believe I am getting very tired of your questions and cross-questions," she said, irritably.
"Now, what a pity!" remarked her tormentor; "for I could never tire of your answers. At all events, Miss Elmsdale could not have heard him whining in the library—so called."
"She might have heard some other dog," said Miss Blake.