“Hush—hush, Joy, hush!” said, the boy. “My faithful kind friend, if he had heard you, you would have an unkind word and a blow for this. It is weak of me to give way thus to tears, but my spirits are subdued, and my heart is nearly broken—broken—broken,” he repeated. Then suddenly starting to his feet, he stood for a few moments in a listening attitude. “’Tis he,” he suddenly exclaimed. “Too well I know that step.” In another moment the door opened, and Jacob Gray stood on the threshold of the apartment. His look was ferocious, and he pointed to the dog as he said, or rather growled in an angry tone,— “I heard that cur.” Harry laid his arm over the dog’s neck, but made no answer. “I told you,” continued Gray striding into the room—“I told you that I would knock out the brains of that creature if ever I heard it bark, or even whine too loudly.” The boy held the dog tighter as Gray advanced and said,— “Uncle, spare him this once—’twas my fault.” “Pshaw!” cried Gray, “I tell you the cur shall die.” A flush of colour came across the face of the boy as Gray spoke, and pushing the dog behind him, he drew his slim figure up to its full height, and confronted Gray with his dark, lustrous eyes, flashing with unusual brilliancy. “Then I tell you he shall not die!” he cried firmly. Gray for a moment quailed beneath the glance of that singularly beautiful child, and twice he tried to summon courage to meet that look of proud defiance ere he could accomplish it, then he said slowly,— “So you are bold. How long is it since you have plucked up so much spirit?” “From the moment that it was necessary to protect the only friend I have against your violence,” replied the boy. “Indeed!” answered Gray. “Aye indeed!” said the boy, trembling with excitement. “Your only friend?” continued Gray. “Humph! You think more, then, of that dog than of me?” “The hound,” said Harry, in a lower tone, “is kind, affectionate, and faithful—’tis in its way, poor thing, tender and devoted; Uncle Gray, are you all that?” Gray laughed hysterically, as he replied,— “Ha! Ha! Is that all? Have you quite summed up the virtues of your hound?” “Its virtues,” said Harry, “are much to me, for they are the only ones I have now an opportunity of noting. Its kindly instincts and dumb affection appear to me so great and estimable because I have no human ones with which to contrast them. I do love the dog, for I have nothing else to love.” “Now,” cried Gray, “by hell—” “Hold, uncle—for shame!” said Harry. “Love the dog, and the dog will love you. They never betray their masters.” A livid paleness came across Gray’s face as he held by the table, and gasped,— “Wh—what—do—you mean by that?” “I say,” repeated Harry, “that dogs never betray their masters.” “Never betray—their—their masters!” said Gray. “Oh, that is what you mean—that is all?” “Nay, uncle, what do you mean?” said the boy, surprised at the awful and convulsive agitation of Gray.