Suddenly Denis woke, and half-started up in his bed. What had awakened him? For a minute or two he could not tell. It was not the moon, though she was there again, peeping in at the chinks left at the corners of the window-blind, and lighting up the white cover of his bed. No, it could not have been the moon, for, as he became more fully awake, he felt sure he had heard some sound. He sat up and listened. Yes, there it was again, a low wail or cry, once or twice repeated, and seeming not far off. Denis sat bolt upright; he did not feel afraid, he only wondered very much what it could be; again he heard it; it sounded like a cry for help. What could it be? Visions of Alex and Lambert in the snow came into his mind. How dreadful if it was one of them! and the cry sounded so near too, as if it were some one at the side door to the garden--a door which opened close by the stair leading to the nursery. What could he do? Oh, if he only had one of these great brave dogs that his mother had read about! The thought made him start--was not the cry like the whine of a dog. Could it be Prince, his own dear little Prince out there alone; poor tender Prince, that could not bear the cold, and would be frightened? Could Robert have forgotten him? Up jumped Denis, and without stopping for slippers or dressing-gown ran to the door. 'I will call Alex and Lambert,' he thought; 'they'll come with me to let in poor Prin.' But suddenly he remembered that Alex and Lambert were not there; they were staying away till to-morrow. Denis stopped short--he must go _alone_ to rescue Prince, alone through the terrible gallery. Bad enough in the daytime and with Nettie's hand, or in the evening with all the cheerful lamps lighted, what would it be in the middle of the night, in the dark?--no, not in the dark, as just then his eyes fell on the strip of brightness across the floor; worse still, it would be moonlight in the gallery, and Denis shivered as he remembered what Linda had said of the look of the old portraits in the moonlight. 'No,' he said aloud, 'I can't go. I can't, poor little Prin. I can't pass along there and feel them running after me with their faces all red and blue and green, and dreadful. I can't.' But just then a rather low piteous whine reached his ears. It half broke his heart to hear it, and at the same moment, as if by magic, some of his mother's words that Sunday afternoon returned to the little fellow's mind. 'Mastering the fear--that is the truest bravery of all; when something good or kind to do comes in the way, to do it even if one is frightened.' Denis stood up again. 'I'll try to be brave,' he thought. 'I fink God will take care of me if I go to let Prin in, so that he won't die of cold.' [Illustration] CHAPTER V.--A FRIGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.