After that it was suddenly very still in the brightening room. Bobby gazed and gazed at his master--one long, heartbroken look, then dropped to all fours and stood trembling. Without another look he stretched himself upon the hearthstone below the bed. Morning and evening footsteps went down and came up on the stairs. Throughout the day--the babel of crowded tenement strife; the crying of fishwives and fagot-venders in the court; the striking of the hours; the boom of the time gun and sweet clamor of music bells; the failing of the light and the soaring note of the bugle--he watched motionless beside his master. Very late at night shuffling footsteps came up the stairs. The “auld wifie” kept a sharp eye on the comings and goings of her lodgers. It was “no' canny” that this old man, with a cauld in his chest, had gone up full two days before and had not come down again. To bitter complaints of his coughing and of his strange talking to himself she gave scant attention, but foul play was done often enough in these dens to make her uneasy. She had no desire to have the Burgh police coming about and interfering with her business. She knocked sharply on the door and called: “Auld Jock!” Bobby trotted over to the door and stood looking at it. In such a strait he would naturally have welcomed the visitor, scratching on the panel, and crying to any human body without to come in and see what had befallen his master. But Auld Jock had bade him “haud 'is gab” there, as in Greyfriars kirkyard. So he held to loyal silence, although the knocking and shaking of the latch was insistent and the lodgers were astir. The voice of the old woman was shrill with alarm. “Auld Jock, can ye no' wauken?” And, after a moment, in which the unlatched casement window within could be heard creaking on its hinges in the chill breeze, there was a hushed and frightened question: “Are ye deid?” The footsteps fled down the stairs, and Bobby was left to watch through the long hours of darkness. Very early in the morning the flimsy door was quietly forced by authority. The first man who entered--an officer of the Crown from the sheriff's court on the bridge--took off his hat to the majesty that dominated that bare cell. The Cowgate region presented many a startling contrast, but such a one as this must seldom have been seen. The classic fireplace, and the motionless figure and peaceful face of the pious old shepherd within it, had the dignity and beauty of some monumental tomb and carved effigy in old Greyfriars kirkyard. Only less strange was the contrast between the marks of poverty and toil on the dead man and the dainty grace of the little fluff of a dog that mourned him.