Now Erica was a great lover of animals, and a passionate lover of justice. Furious to see men and boys looking on without attempting to stop the mischief, she sprang out of the carriage, and, rushing up to the combatants, belabored the big dog with her parasol. It had a strong stick, but she hit so vehemently that it splintered all to bits, and still the dog would not leave its victim. Then, in her desperation, she hit on the right remedy; with great difficulty she managed to grasp him by the throat, and, using all her force, so nearly suffocated him that he was obliged to loosen his hold. At that moment, too, a strong man rushed forward and dealt him such a blow that he bounded off with a yell of pain, and ran howling down the street. Erica bent over the fox terrier then; the big dog had mangled it frightfully, it was covered with blood, and moaned piteously. “Waif! My poor waif!” exclaimed a voice which she seemed to know. “Has that brute killed you?” She looked up and saw Donovan Farrant; he recognized her, but they were both too much absorbed in the poor dog's condition to think of any ordinary greeting. “Where will you take him?” asked Erica. Donovan stooped down to examine poor Waif's injuries. “I fear there is little to be done,” he said. “But we might take him across to the chemist's opposite. Will you hold my whip for me?” She took it, and with infinite skill and tenderness Donovan lifted the fox terrier, while Erica hurried on in front to tell the chemist. They took Waif into a little back room, and did all they could for him; but the chemist shrugged his shoulders. “Better kill the poor brute at once, Mr. Farrant,” he said, blandly. Donovan looked up with a strange gleam in his eyes. “Not for the world!” he exclaimed, with a touch of indignation in his tone. And after that he only spoke to Erica, who, seeing that the chemist had annoyed him undertook all the fetching and carrying, never once shrinking though the sight was a horrible one. At length the footman brought word that Mrs. Fane-Smith was waiting, and she was obliged to go, reluctantly enough. “You'll let me know how he gets on?” she said. “Yes, indeed,” he replied, not thanking her directly for her help, but somehow sending her away with the consciousness that they had passed the bounds of mere acquaintanceship, and were friends for life. She found that her aunt had been waylaid by Mr. Cuthbert. “If I were the owner of the dog, I should have up our honorable member for assault. I believe Miss Raeburn broke her umbrella over the poor thing.” Erica was just in time to hear this. “Were you watching it?” she exclaimed. “And you did nothing to help the fox terrier?” “I do not feel bound to champion every fighting cur who is getting the worst of it,” said Mr. Cuthbert. “What has become of Mr. Farrant's favorite? I suppose he is fussing over it instead of studying the affairs of the nation.” “I am afraid the dog is dying,” said Erica.