There was no mistake, some instinct of which it knew not the meaning had set it on, and it would not be thrust back. In all beasts this strange thing has been remarked--that they know that which ends them all, and so revolt against it that they cannot be at rest so long as it is near them, but must roar, or whinny, or howl until 'tis out of the reach of their scent. And so 'twas plain this little beast knew and was afraid and restless. He would not let it be, but roved about, sniffing and whining, and not daring to thrust his head beneath the falling draperies, but growing more and yet more excited and terrified, until at last he stopped, raised head in air, and gave vent to a longer, louder, and more dolorous howl, and albeit to one with so strange and noticeable a sound that her heart turned over in her breast as she stooped and caught him in her grasp, and shuddered as she stood upright, holding him to her side, her hand over his mouth. But he would not be hushed, and struggled to get down as if indeed he would go mad unless he might get to the thing and rave at it. "If I send thee from the room thou wilt come back, poor Frisk," she said. "There will be no keeping thee away, and I have never ordered thee away before. Why couldst thou not keep still? Nay, 'twas not dog nature." That it was not so was plain by his struggles and the yelps but poorly stifled by her grasp. She put her hand about his little neck, turning, in sooth, very pale. "Thou too, poor little beast," she said. "Thou too, who art so small a thing and never harmed me." When the lacquey came back he wore an air more timorous than before. "Your ladyship," he faltered, "Sir John had not yet reached his lodgings. His servant knew not when he might expect him." "In an hour go again and wait," she commanded. "He must return ere long if he has not left town." And having said this, pointed to a little silken heap which lay outstretched limp upon the floor. "'Tis poor Frisk, who has had some strange spasm, and fell, striking his head. He hath been ailing for days, and howled loudly but an hour ago. Take him away, poor beast." CHAPTER XVII--Wherein his Grace of Osmonde's courier arrives from France