A spasm of pain distorted his handsome face. He opened the door that led
to his side of the cottage--paused--and looked back at Cristel. She took
no notice of him. As he moved again to the door and left us, the
hysterical passion in him forced its way outward--he burst into tears.

The dog sprang up from his refuge under the table, and shook himself
joyfully. Cristel breathed again freely, and joined me at my end of the
room. Shall I make another acknowledgment of weakness? I began to fear
that we might all of us (even including the dog!) have been a little hard
on the poor deaf wretch who had gone away in such bitter distress. I
communicated this view of the matter to Cristel. She failed to see it as
I did.

The dog laid his head on her lap, asking to be caressed. She patted him
while she answered me.

"I agree with this old friend, Mr. Gerard. We were both of us frightened,
on the very first day, when the person you are pitying came to lodge with
us. I have got to hate him, since that time--perhaps to despise him. But
the dog has never changed; he feels and knows there is something dreadful
in that man. One of these days, poor Ponto may turn out to be right.--May
I ask you something, sir?"

"Of course!"

"You won't think I am presuming on your kindness?"

"You ought to know me better than that, Cristel!"

"The truth is, sir, I have been a little startled by what I saw in our