Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the
pain of hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes.

At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house
overcame him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered
across the passage.

At the foot of the stairs he halted, his fore-. paws on the first step,
his grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were
praying. The dim light fell on the raised head; and the white
escutcheon on his breast shone out like the snow on Salmon.

At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and
stood listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned
and began softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed
sentinel at the gate of death.

Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary,
weary while.

Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the
stairs; and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught.

Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken.
Upstairs, feet were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again
silence.

A life was coming in; a life was going out. The minutes passed;
hours passed; and, at-the sunless dawn, a life passed.