"That's just about how Charley Melton could serve Wilters," cried Tom, wiping his eyes. "For shame, sir!" cried her ladyship. "Pray, pray save the poor dog." "What for?" said Tom, grinning, "to be stuffed?" "Oh, don't say it's dead!" wailed her ladyship. "I won't, if you don't wish me to say so," said Tom, "but it is as dead as a door nail. Here, Joby, Joby," he cried, walking up to the dog. But there was a low growl and Joby hung his head, glowered, and walked to the far end of the drawing-room, seeming to take a pleasure in making his journey as long as he could in and out amongst chairs and tables, giving Tom, who followed him, significant hints that it would not be safe to interfere with him at such a time. "There, let's open the door, and he'll go," said Tom. "Oh, no, no, Tom," cried her ladyship. "Sir Grantley's present." Just then the dog seemed to have satisfied his anger upon his rival, and crossing the room to where Maude sat trembling in her chair, he dropped the defunct terrier at her feet, and stood solemnly wagging his stump of a tail as if asking for praise. "Ring the bell, Tryphie," cried her ladyship. "All right," said Tom, forestalling her, and Robbins came up with stately stride. "Take this down, Robbins," said her ladyship, with a shudder. The butler looked ineffably disgusted, but he merely turned upon his heel, strode out of the room, and returned at the end of a minute or two with a silver salver and a napkin, picked up the sixteen guineas with the latter, placed it upon the former, covered it with the damask, and bore the dead dog solemnly out, Joby following him closely, as if turning himself into chief mourner, and then seeing the hall door open trotting slowly out. "That I should have lived to be the mother of such--" Her ladyship did not finish her sentence but rose with dilating eyes, made a sort of heavy rush and bound across the room, pounced upon something and began eagerly to inspect it, tearing open a little narrow pocket and extracting a note. Poor Joby! he did not mean to be so faithless to his trust, but the excitement consequent upon the attack had made the muscles of his throat swell to such a degree that his collar fastening had snapped, and the collar with its valuable missive had fallen upon the carpet, while poor Maude had sat wondering where it had gone. "Yes, of course," said her ladyship, sarcastically. "Well: that trick is detected," she cried, viciously tearing up the note. "Letters sent by a dog, by one of the vilest of the vile; and this, Diphoos, is the man you called your friend." "Oh, aunt, pray be silent," cried Tryphie, running to her cousin's side. "Maude has fainted." CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE EXILE.