A reply soon came. Mr Marsland was out of town, or would have called himself; as it was he would send for Roy at a stipulated time. He was sorry so little had been asked, as he himself would have been glad to obtain the dog at a far larger figure. In reality, of course, he understood the state of affairs, but being a good-hearted fellow and a gentleman he divined that the other would rather be left alone, and forebore to press the point. And so we find the exile sitting here to-day, momentarily expecting the ring at the bell which shall summon him to deliver up his faithful companion. The afternoon wears on. It will soon be dark, and now he hopes that something may occur to delay the sad hour, at any rate until the next morning. Poor Roy sits unsuspectingly, with his head on his master's knee, his soft brown eyes watching his master's moody countenance with a wistful gaze. Rat-tat, tat-tat-tat! goes the door knocker. Roy, who has become used to persons passing in and out, takes no notice beyond a slight cocking of his ears. A moment more, and the slipshod maid of all work appears, ushering in-- "A gentleman, sir." With a sigh Roland looks up at the "gentleman," who might be a stableman or an under-keeper, but is a decent-looking, civil fellow enough. "From Mr Marsland?" "Yes, sir. Can I take the dog now, sir?" "Yes." He goes into the other room, and returns with a chain and collar. Roy, becoming alive to the import of the situation, backs under the table and whines piteously. "Come here, Roy--come here, sir," says his master, in a voice that he vainly strives to render firm. "You dear old fellow, you must go, there's no help for it. Come." The dog obeys, and stands crestfallen, with a world of sad reproach in his soft, pleading eyes, as his master fastens the collar round his white, silky ruff, and kisses him in the middle of his smooth, glossy forehead. "Now, good-bye, old dog, and don't forget your master too soon," and he gives the chain to the man, who stands waiting. "Thankee, sir--good-evenin', sir. He'll go quiet enough directly, bless him." They had reached the front door, Roy hanging back and tugging vigorously at his chain. Roland stands looking after them down the street, in order to see the last of his faithful friend. Suddenly Roy ceases his struggles and trots along quietly for a few steps. Then he stops short. A couple of sudden jerks and he is free. He has slipped his head through the collar and comes running back to his master, and presses against him, looking up into his face with such a piteous whine. "Good God! There's nothing like piling on the agony," mutters Roland between his set teeth, as he readjusts the collar, drawing the strap tighter, the dog licking his face all the while. "Here--take him away-- and--stop, there's half a crown for yourself. And mind you take devilish good care of the dog if you have anything to do with him."