, as he leaned
against the door, with his hands in his coat pocket. "That dog is
dangerous when he's on the scent. You see, Miss Weems," he continued,
speaking over Harold's shoulder, "my niggers are plaguy troublesome,
and I keep the hound to cow them down a trifle. But he wouldn't hurt a
lady, I think--unless I happened to encourage him a bit, do you see."

And the man showed his black teeth with a grin that caused Oriana to
shudder and turn away.

Harold's brow was like a thunder-cloud, from beneath which his eyes
flashed like the lightning at midnight.

"Your words imply a threat which I cannot understand. Ruffian! What do
mean?"

"I mean no good to you, my buck!"

His lip, with the deep cut upon it, curled with hate, but he still
leaned coolly against the door, though a quick ear might have caught a
click, as if he had cocked a pistol in his pocket. It was a habit with
Harold to go unarmed. Fearless and self-reliant by nature, even upon his
surveying expeditions in wild and out of the way districts, he carried
no weapon beyond sometimes a stout oaken staff. But now, his form
dilated, and the muscles of his arm contracted, as if he were about to
strike. Oriana understood the movement and the danger. She advanced
quietly but quickly to his side, and took his hand within her own.

"He is not worth your anger, Harold. For my sake, Harold, do not provoke
him further," she added softly, as she drew him from the spot.

At this moment the baying of the hound was heard, apparently in close
proximity to the hovel, and presently there was a heavy breathing and
snuffling at the threshold, followed by a bound against the door, and a
howl of rage and impatience. Nothing prevented the entrance of the
animal except the form of Rawbon, who still leaned quietly against the
rude frame, which, hanging upon leathern hinges, closed the aperture.

There was something frightful in the hoarse snarling of the angry beast,
as he dashed his heavy shoulder against the rickety framework, and
Oriana shrank nervously to Harold's side.

"Secure that dog!" he said, as, while soothing the trembling girl, he
looked over his shoulder reproachfully at Rawbon. His tone was low, and
even gentle, but it was tremulous with passion. But the man gave no
answer, and continued leering at them as before.

Arthur walked to him and spoke almost in an accent of entreaty.

"Sir, for the sake of your manhood, take away your dog and leave us."

He did n