recoiled sidelong, growling forth, "Don't--you had better not!"--grinned
the most savage grin, showing all his teeth like a wolf; and as she
stood, mute with wonder, perhaps with fright, he slunk edgeways off, as
if aware of his own murderous inclinations, turning his head more than
once, and shaking it at her; then, with the wonted mystery which
enveloped his exits, he was gone! vanished behind a crag, or amidst a
bush, or into a hole--Heaven knows; but, like the lady in the Siege of
Corinth, who warned the renegade Alp of his approaching end, he was
"gone."

Twice again that day Sophy encountered the enraged musician; each time
the same menacing aspect and weird disappearance.

"Is Mr. Fairthorn ever a little-odd?" asked Sophy timidly of George
Morley.

"Always," answered George, dryly.

Sophy felt relieved at that reply. Whatever is habitual in a man's
manner, however unpleasant, is seldom formidable. Still Sophy could not
help saying: "I wish poor Sir Isaac were here!"

"Do you?" said a soft voice behind her; "and pray, who is Sir Isaac?"

The speaker was Darrell, who had come forth with the resolute intent to
see more of Sophy, and make himself as amiably social as he could. Guy
Darrell could never be kind by halves.

"Sir Isaac is the wonderful dog you have heard me describe," replied
George.