The butler, who had stood aghast for an instant, started hastily to cross the room to the assistance of his mistress, but he was not needed. An eye more keen by far than that of the aged servant had watched the course of events, and a force more powerful than his now intervened. Scoland's hand had just touched the girl's shoulder when a bolt of living fury shot across the hall and hurled him so violently against the wall that its stout oaken panels quivered, and he went down under the weight of gray Marcus. Over-leaping in his rage, the dog missed his aim, which was the man's neck. The gnashing fangs closed on Scoland's cheek below the left eye, and tore the flesh down to the chin. His victim down, the furious animal crouched on the body, worrying it horribly. Instinctively, Scoland threw up his arms to protect his throat. The brute seized on one of his bare hands, and the bones crunched in the grip of the iron jaws. Screaming aloud, the man sought to roll over on his face. The sharp teeth ripped through his sleeves and deep into the biceps of his right arm. Rose Emer stood paralyzed in white horror against the wall. Blood spurted from Scoland's mangled face and stained her skirts. "Marcus! Back, Marcus!" she cried. The fighting blood of the dog was up, and she might as well have commanded the wind. She threw her arms around the shaggy neck of the brute and strove with all her strength to drag him from the shrieking, slavering creature that had been James Scoland. Combe, the butler, came to her aid, bringing a heavy oak chair, a leg of which he thrust between the dog's jaws. Between them, the man and the girl finally tore Marcus from his prey, and his mistress led him, still snarling hideously, into another room and shut him in. With the help of Combe, Scoland dragged himself to his feet and stood leaning heavily on a chair, his breath coming in great gasps. One glance Rose Emer had of his ghastly, disfigured countenance, and averted her eyes with a shudder. His punishment had been swift and horrible, more so than she knew. It was not alone the flesh that Marcus had marred. The brain had given way also. Commanding his laboring breath, Scoland shook his uninjured hand at the shrinking girl. "Curse you!" he cried, his voice rising into an unnatural screech. "Curse you and your devil-brute! May your heart rot in loneliness, waiting for your wild man. He'll never find his way back from where I left him. He'll die hard, for he is strong. He will starve and wander and go blind and mad--as I am going mad, and then he'll freeze--very slowly, and die--and come and haunt me--" "What are you saying!" Rose Emer sprang toward him. She forced her unwilling eyes to look upon that terrible face. "You _left_ him, you say? _Alive?_" Scoland threw back his head and laughed--the shrill, terrifying laughter of a maniac.