He went back into his bed. It was opposite the window; and the window, being at the side of the old cottage, looked out on the great open space above the river. When the moonlight appeared, it shone straight into his eyes. I offered to pull down the blind.
"Thank you kindly, sir; please to let it be. I wake often in the night, and I like to see the heavens when I open my eyes."
Something touched me behind: it was the dog. Like his noble and beautiful race, Ponto knew his friends. He licked my hand, and then he walked out through the bedroom door. Instead of taking his usual place, on the mat before Cristel's room, he smelt for a moment under the door—whined softly—and walked up and down the landing.
"What's the matter with the dog?" I asked.
"Restless to-night," said old Toller. "Dogs are restless sometimes. Lie down!" he called through the doorway.
The dog obeyed, but only for a moment. He whined at the door again—and then, once more, he walked up and down the landing.
I went to the bedside. The old man was just going to sleep. I shook him by the shoulder.
"There's something wrong," I said. "Come out and look at Ponto."
He grumbled—but he came out. "Better get the whip," he said.
"Before you do that," I answered, "knock at your daughter's door."