"But it might have been, though," I said; "and then, only think!" "Think," said Clara, "oh, yes, I'll think. Why, he is sure to have him some day." "Don't dear, pray," I said. "And then," continued Clara, "he'll fight the dog, and kill him as King Richard did the lion." "Oh, please, don't tease," I said humbly; "I wonder how he is." "Miss Furness says he is better," said Clara. "How dare Miss Furness know?" I cried, indignantly. "Dear me! How jealous we are!" she said, in her vulgar, tantalising way. "How should I know?" And, for the daughter of a titled lady, it was quite disgusting to hear of what common language she made use. "I don't believe that she knows a single bit about it at all," I said, angrily; for it did seem so exasperating and strange for that old thing to know, while somebody else, whom he had promised to make--but there, I am not at liberty to say what he had promised. "You may depend upon one thing," said Clara, "and that is that your Achille will not be invulnerable to dogs' bites; though, even if he is, he will be tender in the heel, which is the first part that he will show Mr Cyclops, if he comes. But you will see if he does not take good care not to come upon these grounds after dark--that is, as soon as he knows about the dog. By-the-by, dear, what a dislike the dog seems to have to anything French." "I'd kill the wretch if it bit him," I said. Clara laughed as if she did not believe me. "I would," I said; "but I'll take care somehow to warn him, so that he shall run no such risks. For I would not have him bitten for the world." "Of course not--a darling?" said Clara, mockingly. And then no more was said. But matters went unfortunately, and I had no opportunity for warning poor Achille, who was attacked in his turn by the wretch of a dog--who really seemed, as Clara said, to have a dislike to everything French; while, by a kind of clairvoyance, the brute must have known that poor Achille was coming. For, by a strange coincidence--not the first either that occurred during my stay at the Cedars--the creature managed to get loose, and lay in wait just outside the shrubbery until _he_ came, when he flew at him furiously, as I will tell. CHAPTER TWENTY. MEMORY THE TWENTIETH--THE NEW PRISONER. I had no idea that Achille was well enough to go on with the lessons, neither had anybody in the house; for Miss Furness had just summoned us all to the French class, and my mind was, to a certain extent, free from care and pre-occupation, when I heard a most horrible snarling and yelling, and crying for help. Of course I darted in agony to the window, when it was just as I had anticipated--just as I knew, by means of the electric current existing between our hearts--Achille was in peril; for the horrible dog had attacked him, and there he was in full flight.