He was surprised to see his dog lie quiet on the steps.
"Is he there?" he cried instinctively to the creature, which rose and came to greet him.
There was no sound anywhere.
Bruno pushed his door open.
The house was empty.
He went out again and shouted to the air.
The echo from the mountain above was all his answer. When that died away the old silence of the hills was unbroken.
He returned and took the food and the little rose-tree out of his cart.
He had bought them with eagerness, and with that tenderness which was in him, and for which dead Dina had loved him to her hurt. He had now no pleasure in them. A bitter disappointment flung its chill upon him.
Disappointment is man's most frequent visitor—the uninvited guest most sure to come; he ought to be well used to it; yet he can never get familiar.