He is no watch-dog. His simple duties are unvaried from the marsh and field. Growl of hostility to night-comers he knows not. His faithful mind has been attuned to no reveillé note. But he howls mournfully now. The step he hears is like no step he knows. Perhaps, who can say? the dim, untutored mind discerns dimly something wicked, inimical and hostile approaching the house. So The Dog Trust howls, stands for a moment upon his cold concrete sniffing the night air, and then with a sort of shudder plunges into the warm straw of his kennel. Deep sleep broods over the Poet's house. The morning was one of those cold bright autumn days without a breath of wind, which have an extraordinary exhilaration for every one. The soul, which to the majority of folk is like an invisible cloud anchored to the body by a thin thread, is pulled down by such mornings. It reenters flesh and blood, reanimates the body, and sounds like a bugle in the mind. Tumpany, his head had been under the pump for a few minutes, arrived fresh and happy at the Old House. He was going away with The Master upon a Wild-fowling expedition. In Essex the geese were moving this way and that. There was an edge upon anticipation and the morning. In the kitchen Phoebe and Blanche partook of the snappy message of the hour. The guns were all in their cases. A pile of pigskin luggage was ready for the four-wheel dogcart. "Perhaps when the men are out of the way for a day or two, Mistress will have a chance to get right. . . . Master said good-bye to Mistress last night, didn't he?" the cook said to Blanche. "Yes, but he may want to go in again and disturb her." "I don't believe he will. She's asleep now. Those things Dr. Heywood give her keep her quiet. But still you'd better go quietly into her room with her morning milk, Blanche. If she's asleep, just leave it there, so she'll find it when she wakes up." "Very well, cook, I will," the housemaid said--"Oh, there's that Tumpany!" Tumpany came into the kitchen. He wore his best suit. He was quite dictatorial and sober. He spoke in brisk tones. "What are you going to do, my girl?" he said to Blanche in an authoritative voice. "Hush, you silly. Keep quiet, can't you?" Phoebe said angrily. "Blanche is taking up Mistress' milk in case she wakes." "Where's master, then?" "Master is in the library. He'll be down in a minute." "Can I go up to him, cook? . . . There's something about the guns----" "No. You can _not_, Tumpany. But Blanche will take any message.--Blanche, knock at the library door and say Tumpany wants to see Master. But do it quietly. Remember Missis is sleeping at the other end of the passage." As Blanche went up the stairs with her tray, the library door was open, and she saw her master strapping a suit case. She stopped at the open door. --"Please, sir, Tumpany wants to speak to you." Lothian looked up. It was almost as if he had expected the housemaid.