"He has had something like a fit," said Mrs. Hazleton.
"Dear me, perhaps he is going mad," replied the man. "Had I not better kill him?"
"Kill him!" exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton; "on no account whatever. Bring me a small plate of meat."
The man did as he was ordered, and on his return found the dog sitting at his mistress's feet, looking up in her face.
"Ah, Dorset," she said, speaking to the animal in a kindly tone, "you are better now, are you?"
The man seemed inclined to linger to see whether the dog would eat: but Mrs. Hazleton took the plate from him, and threw the poor beast a small piece, which he devoured eagerly.
"There that will do," said Mrs. Hazleton. "You may leave the room."
When she was alone again, she paused for a moment or two, then deliberately unfolded the packet, and put a very small quantity of the powder it contained upon a piece of the meat. This morsel she threw to the poor animal, who swallowed it at once, and then she set down the plate upon the ground, which he cleared in a moment. After that Mrs. Hazleton turned to her reading again, and looked round once at the end of about two minutes. The dog had resumed his sleeping attitude, and she read on. Hardly a minute more had passed ere the poor brute started up, ran round once or twice, as if seized with violent convulsions, staggered for an instant to and fro, and fell over on its side. Mrs. Hazleton rang the bell violently, and two servants ran in at once. "He is dying," she cried; "he is dying."
"Keep out of his way, madam," exclaimed one of the men, evidently in great fear himself, "there is no knowing what he may do."
The next instant the poor dog started once more upon his feet, uttered a loud and terrific yell, and fell dead upon the floor.