You must go."

But she would not. "Do you think I would leave him now--when he wants me
most? And as if he would bite me--Cinders--Cinders--who never even
growled at me!"

She bent over him again, beside herself with grief. Cinders, in the midst
of his pain, tried gently to wag his tail. His brown eyes, faithful,
appealing, full of love, gazed up at her. He had never seen his mistress
in such trouble before, and the instinct to comfort her urged him even
then, in the midst of his own. Again he made piteous efforts to crawl
into her arms, but again he failed, and fell back, whimpering.

Chris covered her face. It was more than she could bear, and yet she
could not--could not--leave him.

For a space that might have been minutes or only seconds she was left
alone, tortured but impotent. A dreadful darkness had fallen upon her, a
numbness in which Cinders, suffering and slowly dying, was the only
reality.

Then again she became conscious of another presence. A quick hand touched
her. A soft voice spoke.

"Ah, the poor Cinders! And he lives yet! _Cherie_, we will be
kind to him, yes? We cannot make him live, but we will let him die
quick--quick, so that he suffer no more. That is kind, that is merciful,
_n'est-ce-pas_?"

She turned instinctively in answer to that voice. She held up her hands
to the speaker like a child. "Oh, Bertie," she cried piteously, "is there
nothing to be done? Nothing?"

"Only that, _cherie_," he made answer, very gently.

"Then"--she was sobbing terribly, but she suffered his hands to raise
her--"don't let them--send me away, Bertie. I can't go--while he lives.
It--it would hurt him more, if I went."

"No, no, _cherie_," he answered her reassuringly. "You will be brave,
yes? See, I will hold your hand. We will go just across the road, but
not beyond his sight. He will see you. He will know that you are near.
There--there, _cherie_! Shut your eyes! It will be finished soon."

He put his arm around her, for she stumbled blindly. They went across the
road as he had said, and halted under the trees on the farther side.

There followed a pause--an interval that was terrible--during which only
the low crying of an animal in pain was audible.

Bertrand stood like a rock, still holding her. "But you will not look,
_cherie_," he whispered to her softly. "It is deliverance--this death.
Soon--soon he will not cry any more."

She pressed her face against his shoulder, wrapped in the close secur