snivelling idiot, Diogenes," she sobbed. "But I c-can't help it.You little know what you've done. I wonder whether you will be sorrywhen you never see me any more?"
Diogenes appeared sufficiently contrite as it was to have settled thatdoubt. Finding one paw ineffectual, he put both in her lap and lickedher downcast face, whereupon Peggy flung her arms about his neck andwept in its thick creases.
It was at this juncture that Mr Musgrave, returning from a countrywalk, chanced inadvertently upon this affecting scene. So amazed was heon rounding the curve to come all unprepared upon Miss Annersley, seatedin the hedge like any vagrant, and weeping more disconsolately than anyvagrant he had ever seen, that he came abruptly to a standstill in frontof her, and surveying the picture with a sympathy which was none theless real on account of his complete ignorance as to the cause of hergrief, he exclaimed in his astonishment:
"Miss Annersley! You'll catch a chill if you sit on the damp grass likethat."
Peggy, as much amazed at this interruption of her lamentation as theinterruptor had been at sight of her lamenting, looked up with a littlegasp, and then struggled to her feet, upsetting Diogenes, but notreleasing her grasp on the lead, one idea alone unalterably fixed in hermind--the necessity to hold on to Diogenes in any circumstance.
"Oh, Mr Musgrave," she cried a little wildly, "what does it matter whatI catch, since I am so miserable?"
"But why," asked John Musgrave, not unreasonably, "if you are in troubleshould you add to your distress the physical incapacity to battle withit? It is very unwise to sit on the ground so early in the season."
Peggy emitted a little strangled laugh.
"I don't think I am very wise," she admitted. "I am like Diogenes, allmade up of impulses and tardy repentances."
Mr Musgrave eyed Diogenes with marked disfavour. Whether it was due toa suggestion conveyed unconsciously in Peggy's speech or to theunnaturally subdued air which Diogenes wore, he gathered the impressionthat the source of Peggy's tears might be traced to the evil doings ofthis ferocious-looking animal.
"What," he asked, "has Diogenes been doing now?"
The "now" was an ungenerous slip which Mr Musgrave's good feeling wouldnot have permitted had he reflected before speaking; it proved thatDiogenes' past misdeeds were present in his thoughts. But Peggy was toounhappy to take notice of this, as assuredly she would have done in acalmer moment.
"Diogenes," she said, and leaned down to pat the big flat head, "hascommitted murder. It is only the pekinese," she added hastily, onobserving Mr Musgrave's horrified expression. "He pretended it was arabbit, and hunted it. I have just saved him from capital punishmentand he's in hiding. But it's so difficult to hide him in Moresby. Myuncle and aunt believe that he is shot. If they knew he wasn't they'dbe--well, they'd be glad later, I know, but just at present they wouldbe very angry. I have got to find a home for him right away, and Idon't know where to find it. I don't know what to do with him."
She looked up at John Musgrave dolefully, with an appeal in the darklygrey eyes which Mr Musgrave found difficult to resist. They almostseemed to suggest that he, as a tower of strength, might aid her in thismatter. Mr Musgrave began to revolve in his mind whether he could notaid her. He did not like Diogenes, and he recalled the damage Diogeneshad effected in his own kitchen. That crime weighed with him more thanthe slaughter of the pekinese; the death of the pekinese did not concernMr Musgrave. Had it been a case simply of the rescue of Diogenes froma perfectly just punishment it is doubtful whether Mr Musgrave'skindness of heart would have proved equal to the sacrifice; but theassisting of Peggy Annersley was an altogether different matter. It wasa matter which commended itself to Mr Musgrave as worthy of hisendeavour.
"Can I not help you," he suggested, with the faintest show ofhesitation, which hesitation vanished before her radiant look, "byremoving Diogenes to--to Rushleigh, or some more distant place, andgetting some one to dispose of him for you? I could take him in to-dayin the car."
"Oh, will you?" Peggy cried eagerly. "Oh, Mr Musgrave, I shall beeternally grateful to you if you will."
Mr Musgrave, although slightly embarrassed, was not indisposed tobecome an object for Miss Annersley's lasting gratitude; he liked theeager impulsiveness of her speech; it made him feel that he wasrendering her an inestimable service; and to render valuable servicewith so slight personal inconvenience was agreeable; it conveyed acomfortable sense of being useful.
"Certainly I will do that," he said. "It is a small service. I wish Icould help you more effectively."
Mr Musgrave was quite sincere in the expression of this wish. He waswell aware of Peggy's affection for the ugly brute which was herconstant companion, and he knew what a wrench it would be for her topart with Diogenes; but Diogenes' banishment was inevitable. That pointwas very clear.
"If you think he will come with me I will take him now," he said.
Diogenes appeared so very reluctant to accompany Mr Musgrave and sovery determined to follow Peggy that Peggy finally suggested taking himherself, and leaving him secure under lock and key in Mr Musgrave'sgarage. If this arrangement occurred to Mr Musgrave as somewhatunconventional he lost sight of its inadvisability on that account inview of the greater inadvisability of attempting to drag an unwillingbull-dog, whose unfailing gentleness he had reason to question, awayfrom the only person who appeared to have any sort of control over him.Mr Musgrave therefore relinquished the lead and prepared to accompanyPeggy and the bull-dog back to his orderly home.
A good deed may carry its own reward; but in the days that were tofollow, in the weeks and months that followed, Mr Musgrave was moved todoubt the infallibility of providential recognition of unselfish deeds.It is fortunate for the persistence in the instinct for obeying agenerous impulse that the future is mercifully shrouded in the obscurityof unseen things.
Arrived at the house, Mr Musgrave and Peggy and Diogenes behaved verymuch after the manner of three conspirators. In a sense they wereconspirators, and the third was a criminal conspirator. Diogenes, withagreeable recollections of former sport connected with Mr Musgrave'sback entrance, plucked up his spirit on passing through the gate andlooked expectantly round for Mr Musgrave's cat; Peggy, with lesspleasant memories of that former occasion, tightened her hold on thelead and kept an attentive eye on her charge; Mr Musgrave, conscious ofnothing save the undesirability of being seen by the servants underexisting circumstances, walked with a sheepish and cautious air past theback of his dwelling, and on reaching the stables threw open the doorwith guilty haste and drew it after him as he followed close uponPeggy's heels. Once inside, safe from observation, with the door shutagainst intrusion, he assumed his normal manner, and ceased to look likea middle-aged Guy Fawkes, or a gentlemanly dog-stealer.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
"What jolly stables!" Peggy cried, breathing herself more freely sincethe imminent discovery of Diogenes was a danger past. They had met noone in the road, had been seen by no one from the house. "You will bequite happy here, Diogenes. You must be very good, and give no trouble,mind."
Diogenes, who was engaged on an inspection of his temporary quarters,disregarded these injunctions; he was snuffling round for rats. Peggylooked at Mr Musgrave. By a strange coincidence Mr Musgrave waslooking at Peggy, looking with a close and curious scrutiny.
"You _are_ kind," she said. "I can never thank you."
Her gratitude had the effect of inclining Mr Musgrave towards a greaterkindliness; but, since he had undertaken to perform the sole servicethat presented itself as practicable, he could bethink him of nothingkinder, and so modestly deprecated her thanks.
"If Diogenes had been shot," she said, and shivered, "it would have mademe very unhappy. I'm unhappy enough as it is. I hate the thought oflosing him. I can't bear to think of never seeing him in the future."
To hide the sudden rush of tears which she realised would be asembarrassing for John Musgrave to witness as for her to shed before him,she dropped on her knees in the straw
and drew Diogenes to her and puther arms about his neck.
"Oh, Diogenes, my poor dear?" she sobbed. "Why ever did you do it?I've got to let you go, Diogenes. I shan't see you any more, ever.We'll never go for walks together again. If I'd only been with him,"she said, lifting to John Musgrave her tear-dimmed eyes, "it wouldn'thave happened."
John Musgrave, with the scene of his wrecked china, and Diogenesstanding triumphant amid the wreckage, with Peggy, dismayed andhelpless, beside him, had a passing doubt whether her presence wouldhave availed in preventing the tragedy. But, with those upturned,tear-filled eyes appealing for his sympathy, to remind her that herauthority was