What affected Mrs. Dunbar as much as any thing was the behavior of the dog. Through all that day he remained in the same place, sometimes standing, sometimes lying down, but never going away more than a few feet. That the dog had some meaning in this singular behavior, and that this meaning had reference to the flight of one or the other of the late inmates of the house, was very evident to her. No persuasion, or coaxing, or even threatening could draw the dog away; and even when Hugo fired a gun off close to his lead, he quivered in every nerve, but only moved back a foot or two. Food and drink were brought to him, of which he partook with a most eager appetite, but no temptation could draw him any distance from his post. That night was a sleepless one for Mrs. Dunbar; and it was with a feeling of great relief that she heard the noise of a carriage early on the following day, and knew that Wiggins had returned. She hurried down at once, and met him in the great hall. In a few words she told him all. For such intelligence as this Wiggins was evidently unprepared. He staggered back and leaned against the wall, staring at Mrs. Dunbar with a terrible look. “What! Gone!” he said, slowly. “Edith!” “Yes; and Leon.” “Edith gone!” gasped Wiggins once more. “Did you hear nothing in the village?” “I drove through without stopping. Did you send to the village?” “I did not think that they could have got out of the grounds.” “They! There's no trouble about Leon?” “I'm afraid--for him,” said Mrs. Dunbar, in a faint voice. “For him!” exclaimed Wiggins. “What can happen to him? For her, you mean.” “They must have gone off together.” “Together! Do you think Edith would go with _him_? No; she has fled in her madness and ignorance, turning her back on happiness and love, and he has pursued her. O Heavens!” he continued, with a groan, “to think that it should end in this! And cursed be that scoundrel--” “Stop!” cried Mrs. Dunbar. “He is not a scoundrel. He would not harm her. You don't know Leon. He has not left the place; his dog is here.” “His dog!” Mrs. Dunbar explained. Upon this Wiggins went through the hall to the rear, and there, in the same place as where Mrs. Dunbar last saw him, was the dog. He was lying down now. He wagged his tail in friendly recognition as they came up. Wiggins patted him and stroked him and tried to coax him away. The result was precisely the same as it had been before. The dog received all advances in the most friendly manner possible. He wagged his tail, rolled over on his back, licked their hands, sat up on his hind-quarters, and did every thing which dogs usually do when petted or played with, but nothing would induce him to leave the place. He did not appear to be in any trouble. He seemed simply to have made up his mind to stay there, and this resolution he maintained most obstinately. Wiggins could make nothing of it; but the sight of the dog renewed the terrors of Mrs. Dunbar.