always been--the
creature subdued, restrained, but always there--there through all
this civilized existence; the creature that his father was, that his
grandfather, that all his ancestors, had been. He looked down. The
hulking body that had been Carfax made a hollow in the wet and broken
fern. The face was white, stupid, the cheeks hanging fat, horrible, the
eyes staring. One leg was twisted beneath the body. Still in the air
there seemed to linger that startled little cry--"Oh!"--surprise,
wonder--and then fading miserably into nothing as the great body fell.

Such a huge hulking brute; now so sordid and useless, looking at last,
after all these years, the thing that it ought always to have looked.
Some money had rolled from the pocket and lay shining amongst the fern.
A gold ring glittered on the white finger, seeming in the heart of that
silence the only living note.

Then Olva remembered his dog--where was he? He turned and saw the fox
terrier down on all fours amongst the fern, motionless, his tongue out,
his eyes gazing with animal inquiry at his master. The dog was waiting
for the order to continue the walk. He seemed, in his passivity, merely
to be resting, a little exhausted perhaps by the heavy closeness of the
day, too indolent to nose amongst the leaves for possible adventure:
Olva looked at him. The dog caught the look and beat the grass with his
tail, soft, friendly taps to show that he only waited for orders. Then
still idly, still with that air of gentle amusement, the dog gazed at
the thing in the grass. He rose slowly and very delicately advanced a
few steps: for an instant some fear seemed to strike his heart for he
stopped suddenly and gazed into his master's face for reassurance. What
he saw there comforted him. Again he wagged his tail placidly and half
closed his eyes in sleepy indifference.

Then Olva, without another backward glance, left the hollow, crashed
through the fern up the hill and struck the little brown path. Bunker,
the dog, pattered patiently behind him.

2

Olva Dune was twenty-three years of age. He was of Spanish descent,
and it was only within the last two generations that English blood had
mingled with the Dune stock. He was of no great height, slim and dark.
His hair was black, his complexion sallow, and on his upper lip he wore
a small dark moustache. His ears were small, his mouth thin, his chin
sharply pointed, but his eyes, large, dark brown, were his best feature.