Mr. Chandos turned his face quickly towards me, "Are you afraid of dogs?" "Rather, sir. I am of that one." At this juncture, a groom came running up, in search of the dog. Mr. Chandos spoke sharply to him, and the man answered, in a tone of deprecation, that it was no fault of his; that the dog sometimes, in his fits of effort to get loose was as a "born devil," and in one of those fits had, a quarter of an hour before, snapped his chain, and burst through the stable window. "He has run the fit off, then," said Mr. Chandos, "for he is quiet enough now. Take him back, and mind you secure him fast." The man took the chain in his hand, and went off, leading the dog. Mr. Chandos opened the gate for me. I had not overcome the fright yet, and my face felt ashy pale. "My poor child! It has indeed frightened you. Do you feel faint?" "I shall not faint, sir. I never fainted in my life." Without the least ceremony, he placed my hand within his arm, and walked on. A little to the right, underneath some thick cypress trees, there was a bench. He bade me sit down, and seated himself beside me. "You will be all the better for resting here a minute or two. How did it happen? Where did you and Mr. Nero encounter each other?" "I had been out walking, sir. Lady Chandos told me of a pretty walk there is to the left, outside the gates. In coming back, I was just inside the gate, when the dog came up, leaping and barking." "And you were frightened?" "Very much frightened. Had I not occasion, sir? One moment later, and he might have torn me to pieces." "It is my dog," he resumed, "and I am exceedingly sorry he should have given you the alarm. Will you return good for evil?" "Good for evil! In what manner, sir?" I asked. "By not mentioning this to my mother," he replied. "She has a great dislike to dogs being kept on the premises. Some few months ago, when a friend of mine was dying, he asked me to take his dog—this one which has just frightened you—but Lady Chandos would only consent to its coming here on condition that it should be kept tied up. It is a valuable dog, though fierce on occasions, the confinement to which it is mostly condemned making it more fierce. I will take care it does not break bounds again, and I would prefer that my mother should not know of this." "I will not tell her, sir. I suppose Lady Chandos dislikes dogs as much as I do." "She does not dislike dogs: she rather likes them. But she objects—at least, she has objected latterly—to have dogs loose about the premises." "She fears their going mad, perhaps?" Mr. Chandos laughed. "No, she does not fear that. I must make you and Nero friends, Miss Hereford; you will then find how little he is to be dreaded. You shall come to the stables with me when he is tied up fast. How long have you known my sister?" he resumed, changing the subject. "I knew her a little at Mademoiselle Barlieu's. I entered the school just before she left it."