grief Mrs Chadwick recoiled from the suggestion.
"I couldn't have another pet," she wailed. "I loved him so. I couldn'tbear another dog in his place. I d-don't want to see a dog again."
"All right," he said. "But buck up, Ruby. Come and get into the car,and I'll drive you home."
"I couldn't endure to have that brute in with me," she sobbed angrily.
"No, of course not. We'll leave the beast behind. You shan't beworried with the sight of him again. I'll shoot him."
He made the promise glibly, in the hope that this threat would rouseher. It roused her effectually, but not in the way in which he hadintended. She looked up with a gleam of vindictive satisfaction in hereyes, showing through her tears.
"Oh, do!" she said. "Shoot him to-day. I couldn't see him about afterthis."
"All right," he acquiesced, none too heartily. Diogenes was a valuabledog, and had, moreover, a winning way with him towards the people whomhe liked, and Will Chadwick was certainly one of these. Mr Chadwickcould no more have shot the dog with his own hand than he could haveshot a child.
"I'll see to it," he said.
The first intimation Diogenes had that it was expected of him that heshould walk home was when the car started and left him, mute andbewildered and bespattered with mud, in the road gazing after it. Noword had been vouchsafed him, no look. From the silence and the absenceof interest in himself he had been deluded into supposing that he wasnot held responsible for the evil that had been done; but with thedisappearance of the car vague doubts disturbed him, and he started in asour, halfhearted way to follow the car and face his destiny. Even hadhis intelligence been equal to grasping what that destiny was, so greatis the force of habit that he would have returned inevitably to meet it.
Diogenes got back some time after the car, and was met at the entranceby one of the few men employed at the Hall. This person, who hadapparently been waiting for him, fastened a lead to his collar and tookup a gun which he had rested against a tree, seeming as though he toowere bent on posing as a sportsman, which he was not, save in the humblecapacity of cleaning his master's guns.
"You come along with me, old fellow," he said, and tried to look grim,but softened on meeting Diogenes' inquiring eye. "Shame, I calls it,"he ejaculated in a voice of disgust. "Anyone might 'a' made the mistakeof taking that there for a rabbit. Blest if I rekernised it for a dogwhen I seed it first."
He led Diogenes out through the gate and down the road towards a field.The gate of the field was troublesome to open. While he fumbled withthe padlock, his gun resting against the gatepost for the greaterfreedom of his hands, a joyous bark from Diogenes, who previously hadworn a surprisingly docile and depressed mien, as though aware of whatwas going forward which these preparations portended, caused him todesist from the business of unfastening the gate to look up. When hesaw who it was whose hurrying figure Diogenes thus joyfully hailed, hedid not trouble to go on with his job, but waited for Peggy to approach.She came up at a run, and caught at Diogenes' lead, and, holding it,stared at the man.
"What were you going to do with him?" she asked, her accusing eyes goingfrom his face to the gun, and from the gun back again to his face.
"Shoot 'im, miss," he answered. "It's the master's orders."
"Absurd!" cried Peggy angrily. "I won't have it done."
"Sorry, miss," the man replied, looking at her with a mingling of doubtand submission in his glance. "But I'm afraid it'll 'ave to be. Shoot'im, without delay. Them's my orders."
"Well, you can't obey them," replied Peggy, as calmly as her agitationallowed, "because, you see, I won't let you. You can't shoot him whileI hold him, can you?"
"No, miss," he replied. "But it's as much as my place is worth--"
Peggy cut him short.
"I am going to take him away," she said. "I'll hide him... send himaway from the place. But I won't have him sacrificed for--for a sillyaccident like that. Both Mr and Mrs Chadwick will regret it later.He's a very valuable dog."
"Yes, miss," he said. "I allow it's a shame. But the master was veryshort and emphatic. What am I to say when 'e asks me if it's done?"
"He won't ask," Peggy answered, as confident that her uncle would benearly as pained at Diogenes' death as her aunt was over the pekinese."He will take it for granted, of course, that it is done. Go into thefield and fire off your gun, and then return to the house. I'll see toDiogenes."
"You are quite sure, miss," the man said doubtfully, "that you won't letno one see that there dog? If the master thought that I'd deceivedhim--"
"No one shall see him," Peggy answered, not considering at the momentthe magnitude of this promise. "I take all responsibility. You leavehim with me."
"Very good, miss," he said cheerfully, as much relieved to be free fromthe task appointed him as Peggy was to watch him vault the gate anddisappear, gun in hand, into the field.
The next thing she and Diogenes heard was the report of the gun as thispseudo-murderer killed an imaginary dog in the field with bloodthirstyzest.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
The sound of the gun, although it was discharged harmlessly into theunoffending ground, brought home to Peggy the full significance of thesentence that had been passed upon Diogenes, and the narrow shave bywhich she had prevented its being carried into effect. Diogenes tooseemed to realise instinctively the seriousness of the occasion and thevastness of the service rendered him through Peggy's intervention. Hepushed his ungainly body against her skirt, instead of straining fromthe leash as was his practice, and when the report of the gun startledhim, as it startled the girl and made her shiver, he lifted his softeyes to her face wistfully, and pushed a cold nose into her hand forcomfort, and licked the hand in humble testimony of his gratitude.Peggy looked down on him and her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, Diogenes!" she cried. "Why did you do it?... Oh, Diogenes?"
Diogenes wagged his foolish tail and licked her hand again with yet moreeffusive demonstrations of affection. So much distressful weepingtroubled him. Save when a child screamed at the sight of him, or afoolish person, like Eliza, his experience had not led him to expecttears. Yet to-day here were two people whom he had never seen crybefore, lamenting tearfully in a manner which seemed somehow associatedwith himself. Diogenes could not understand it; and so he sidledconsolingly against Peggy, to the incommoding of her progress as shehurried him away down the road.
Where she intended taking him, or what she purposed doing with him, werereflections which so far her mind had not burdened itself with; gettinghim away from the Hall and beyond the view of anyone connected with theplace was sufficient concern for the moment.
When she had covered a distance of about half a mile the difficultquestion of the safe disposal of Diogenes arose, and, finding herunprepared with any solution of the problem, left her dismayed andperplexed, standing in the road with the subdued Diogenes beside her, ata complete loss what to do next. She looked at Diogenes, looked downthe road, looked again at Diogenes, and frowned.
"Oh, you tiresome animal!" she exclaimed. "What am I to do now?"
One thing she dared not do, and that was take Diogenes back.
Peggy sat down in the hedge, risking chills and all the evils attendanton sitting upon damp ground, and drew Diogenes close to her, while sheturned over in her busy brain the people she knew who would be mostlikely to assist her out of this difficulty. The obvious person, theone to whom she would have turned most readily to assist her with everyassurance of his helpful sympathy but for that unfortunate interview inthe conservatory, was Doctor Fairbridge. She felt incensed when shereflected upon that absurd scene and realised that the man had therebymade his friendship useless to her; that at this crisis when he couldhave served her she was debarred from seeking his aid, would have beenunable to accept it had it been offered. Yet Doctor Fairbridge couldhave taken Diogenes, would have taken him, she, knew, and might havekept him successfully concealed at Rushleigh. Why, in the name of all
that was annoying, had he been so inconsiderate as to propose to her?
"I don't know what I am to do with you, Diogenes," she said. "I don'tknow where to hide you in a silly little place like this."
Peggy was upset, and so worried with the whole affair, not only with thebusiness of hiding Diogenes, but at the thought of having to part fromthis good companion who belonged to her in every sense save that oflawful ownership, that she here broke down and began to cry in earnest.Diogenes lifted a bandy paw and scratched her knee.
"I'm a