CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
"DOWN, BRUNO! DOWN!"
"No, Denton; he does not seem to get better," said Gertrude, as sheknelt beside Bruno in the stable, the dog resting his muzzle in herhand, while he blinked patiently; and, from time to time, uttered a veryhuman sigh.
"Oh, but he is better, my dear, and gradually growing stronger. He atequite a big basin of bread and milk this morning."
"So cruel to injure a poor dumb beast like that."
"Yes, my dear; but I'll be bound to say Bruno left his mark upon whoeverit was, and serve him right."
The dog whined uneasily, and opened his eyes to stare about him, as ifhe had been half dreaming, and imagined there was something near.
"Poor Bruno, then?" said Gertrude caressingly. "Denton, doesn't allthis seem very strange to you about--about--"
"Master George, my dear? Well, yes; but I can hardly forgive myself forthinking that other was the darling little fellow I was so proud to havein the house. But there, we are all right now."
Gertrude signed.
"Why, my dear, you oughtn't to do that. Now, if it was the other, withhis dreadful ways of sitting up with Mr Saul over the whiskey, and thefinding him asleep in his chair at seven o'clock in the morning, youmight sigh."
"Hush, Denton," said Gertrude colouring, as she softly laid down thedog's heavy head, with the effect that the poor beast whined.
"Now, I tell you what I should do if I were you, Miss Gertie," continuedthe old woman. "Dogs are a deal like human beings when they're ill."
"What do you mean, Denton?"
"Why, poor Bruno has been shut up in this dark stable and wants freshair. If I were you, I should go and get a book, and then lead the dogright down to the bottom of the garden, to the old seat under the yewhedge, and you could read in the shade while he lies down in the sun."
"Denton, you ought to have been a duchess," cried Gertrude; "you dear,clever old thing. Lie still, Bruno, and I'll be back directly."
Full of her idea, Gertrude ran into the drawing-room for a book; toldMrs Hampton, who was writing letters, what she was about to do; and,catching a sunshade from the hall-stand, she was back in the stablebefore five minutes had elapsed.
It was no easy task, though, to get the dog down to the bottom lawn.The poor beast, evidently in a drowsy way, approved of the change; butat the end of every few yards he lowered his head, and stood as if goingto sleep on his outstretched legs. At such times Gertrude felt disposedto give up; but invariably as she came to this determination the dogseemed to revive, and slowly followed her again.
The old rustic chair was reached at last, and Bruno lay down, in thefull sunshine, upon the soft turf; while his mistress settled herself ina well-clipped nook of the great yew hedge, which separated the bottomof the garden from the meadows, across which ran a footpath, forming ashort cut to the station.
The flies troubled the dog a little, but he was soon apparentlysleeping, basking in the sun; though the opening of one eye every time aleaf was turned over by his mistress told that he never lostconsciousness.
Gertrude read a page or two of her book, and then began reading pageafter page of her life; and there was a curious feeling of wonderment asshe went on, thinking of Saul's advances, and the horror with which theyhad inspired her; then of the coming of him who called himself GeorgeHarrington, the man she had tutored herself that it was her duty tolove, with the result that the chivalrous being she had expected to seehad completely disillusionised her; and her duty had become a pain.
She wondered, as she thought of his embraces, of the drink-poisonedbreath, and the horror of his self-inflicted illness, and what followed.It was all oppressive and strange. It had seemed as if her life was tobe one long act of self-devotion, with clouds surrounding her, and herheart aching painfully over the fate from which there seemed to be noescape.
Then, all at once, in a way that seemed to frighten her, the sunshinehad burst the clouds, and dazzled her with its effulgence. She felt astrange kind of joy, that the hero she had painted in her heart couldnot even compare with the frank, manly, chivalrous fellow who had comeand boldly declared the other to be an impostor.
"Was this the first dawning of love?" she asked herself, as the warmblood mantled in her cheeks; and she wondered whether it was unmaidenlyand strange to think so warmly of the man who had been selected to beher husband.
She had just come to the conclusion that it would be possible to lovesuch a one as this, when there was a faint rustling sound beyond thehedge, as of a footstep in the grass, and a voice said thoughtfully:
"I wonder whether she ever comes down here." A low, deep growl fromBruno followed; and, without thinking that her words might be heard,Gertrude cried:
"Down, Bruno! down!"