Then, all at once, in a way that seemed to frighten her, the sunshine had burst the clouds, and dazzled her with its effulgence. She felt a strange kind of joy, that the hero she had painted in her heart could not even compare with the frank, manly, chivalrous fellow who had come and boldly declared the other to be an impostor. "Was this the first dawning of love?" she asked herself, as the warm blood mantled in her cheeks; and she wondered whether it was unmaidenly and strange to think so warmly of the man who had been selected to be her husband. She had just come to the conclusion that it would be possible to love such a one as this, when there was a faint rustling sound beyond the hedge, as of a footstep in the grass, and a voice said thoughtfully: "I wonder whether she ever comes down here." A low, deep growl from Bruno followed; and, without thinking that her words might be heard, Gertrude cried: "Down, Bruno! down!" CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. MASTER'S STICK. "I beg your pardon. Really, Miss Bellwood, I did not expect to find you here." "Mr--" "Harrington," he said, as she paused. "You need not be afraid to call me by that name; and George. They are mine, indeed." "I beg your pardon, Mr Harrington." Bruno uttered a low, ominous growl. "Your dog does not like me," he said. "You are a stranger." "At present; but not for long, I hope." "Quiet, Bruno!" she said, to hide her confusion. "He has been hurt very much. I brought him out here for a change." "Lucky dog," he said; and then in dread lest it might be considered an impertinence: "How was he hurt? Run over--a kick?" "No, poor fellow; somebody must have struck him a terrible blow on the head." "Indeed! That's bad. Let me look at him. I understand a good deal about dogs." "You do?" cried Gertrude eagerly. "Oh, yes. I have been in the wilds, sometimes for months, with no other companion than a dog. May I come through? There is quite a gap here." "A gap? Then let me bring Bruno to you," she said hastily. He smiled as he said to himself, "this is a strange position;" and he appreciated the maiden delicacy which prompted the words, and stood religiously on the field side of the hedge as Gertrude coaxed the dog to follow her. Bruno rose painfully and walked to the gap, where he suddenly seemed to revive, for he growled fiercely, set up his ruff, and began to look eagerly about, snuffling loudly the while. "Down, Bruno!" cried Gertrude excitedly. "He does not like you. He might bite." "He had better not," cried the young man merrily. "Dogs must not bite friends--his mistress' friends," he added meaningly; and, as through the slightly broken opening in the yews he saw Gertrude shrink, he continued hurriedly: "no, it is not at me, but at something about the grass. Oh, I see, he has found a broken stick."