"St. Udo Brand should fear nothing," mocked Margaret.
His eyeballs quivered and fell; the veins grew black upon his brow.
"One of your silly women had a narrow escape from being torn to pieces," he said, sourly, changing the subject.
"Yes," retorted Margaret, "I hear you keep a dangerous dog—the sooner you stab him the safer we shall feel."
His hand dropped from his bosom as if an adder had bitten him; her meaning was unmistakable.
"Tell the woman not to venture upon dangerous ground," he growled from beneath his closed teeth. "Argus is a fierce brute, and hates a spy."
"Do not apologize for your dog's ferocity. I can well afford the loss of a cloak for the tableau I had the pleasure of witnessing."
Her pallid, daring face pointed her meaning. Colonel Brand bowed to hide his livid face as if he had received a fine compliment; those Satanic white spots were slowly disappearing when he ventured to speak again.
"Since it was my lovely hostess, and not an inquisitive kitchen-wench, who was frightened," sneered he, "Argus shall be consigned to the bottom of the mere."
"Argus knew his master Ulysses after they had been parted twenty years. Would your dog recognize you by the name of St. Udo Brand, do you suppose?"