He goes not because it will be a great thing to do, or on account of the
admiration which success will bring him. That mother's shriek of agony
rings in his ears, and if he even knew that he was going to his death,
yet would he still assume the risk.

It was on account of a mother--his own--he refused to risk his life
before, and the same sacred affection inspires his action now, for he
could never look into her dear eyes again, except in a shame-faced way,
if he allowed this child to meet death while he stood an inactive
spectator of the tragedy.

As he advances, John draws his right arm from his coat-sleeve. It is not
the act of thoughtlessness, but has been done with a motive.

When the coat is free, with a quick motion he whirls it around, so that
it rolls about his left arm.

Those who see the act comprehend his purpose, and realize that he means
to force the brute to seize him there.

All this has occurred in a very brief time. Perhaps a quarter of a
minute has elapsed since Lady Ruth turned to Colonel Lionel, and
besought his aid.

John Craig has at least accomplished one purpose. Just as the mad dog is
about to snap at the child, the young medical student snatches the boy
away, and throws him to the rear. The child rolls over and over, and
then, sitting up, begins to cry, more from surprise at the rough
treatment than because he is hurt.