"For heaven's sake, come at once and help me. I am half mad.--Praed." Dinah looked up in her lover's anxious face, as it clouded over, her own full of eagerness and sympathy. "From Janet Praed's father, dearest," he said softly. "You know everything--my brother's wife. There must be some terrible trouble on the way.--Major, I must go up to town at once. Here is a telegram from my dear old godfather, Doctor Praed. You will take care of my darling till I return?" "Not--not dead?" said the Major anxiously. Clive Reed started, as a spasm shot through him. "I pray God, no," he said hoarsely, as for a moment he turned ghastly and wild-looking. Then he was the prompt man of business decision again. "We must not jump at conclusions," he said gravely. "Good-bye, dearest. I will telegraph the news as soon as I know it. God bless you, darling," he whispered, as he embraced her. "Let's hope for the best.-- Good-bye, sir." "One moment, my boy, would it not be better to sleep here, and go on from Chapel in the morning?" "My dear sir, I must be in London in the morning. If I run to the mine and get one of the horses, there will be just time to gallop over to Blinkdale and catch the up mail. Good-bye." The next minute, with the dog barking loudly, the Major and his daughter stood in the garden, listening to the regular beat-beat of feet as the two men went along the stony path, the sounds growing fainter and fainter, dying away, coming again, and finally dying out for good. "Poor lad! I hope it is nothing very serious," said the Major. "Good heavens! what is the matter with the dog?" For suddenly as they stood there, the animal gave vent to a piteous, heartrending cry, which sent a thrill through the hearers. It was followed by another less wild and strange, and then came a quick scuffling sound, and the noise of the rattling of the chain. "Back directly, my dear," said the Major, and he hurried round to the other side of the cottage, leaving Dinah standing on the little lawn. She took a step to follow, but at that moment there was a slight rustling sound from the bushes close at hand, and she stood as if petrified. But only for a few moments, for directly after her father's voice came loudly-- "Dinah! Quick! Bring a light." Before she could reach the little drawing-room a light flashed out from the door, and Martha, who had heard the words, appeared bringing a lamp. "Don't be frightened, Miss Dinah," she said, as her arm was caught, and they hurried on together to where the dog's piteous whines could be heard; "the poor thing must be in a fit." She was quite right, but it was a fit of agony--the last, for as they reached the kennel where the Major knelt on one knee, the poor dog uttered one short gasping bark, as it stretched itself out more and more, and then there was a sudden snatching, quivering motion, and it seemed to be drawn backward till it formed a curve.