red after the fright, when she once
began we could hardly stop her weeping, and were thankful when she was
soothed into another sleep, which we durst not peril by a word.

It deepened and lasted so that Harold carried her upstairs still
asleep, and laid her on her own little bed. Then he came out with me
into my dear old sitting-room, where, without another word, he knelt in
the old place and said, "_That_ psalm, please Lucy."

"I think we ought to give thanks in church," I said, presently.

"Whatever is right," he said fervently.

"It was the greatest escape you ever had," I said.

"Yes," he said, shuddering; "at least it seemed so. I really thought
the dog had bitten me when he flew in my face. It felt just like it,
and I was very near giving up. I don't mean letting him go, but not
heeding whether he touched me or not. It kept on haunting me till I
was alone with Dora, and could examine at the looking-glass."

Of course I was not content till I had likewise again convinced myself
by searching into the beard, and then I added, "Ah! this is worse than
the lion, though then you were really hurt."

"Yes, but there one knew the worst. Besides," he said, again
overcoming a shudder, "I know my feeling about dogs is a weakness owing
to my sin. 'Deliver me from the power of the dog,' to me expresses all
the power of evil."

Then he sat down and took a pen to write to Mr. Crosse. "Harold Alison
wishes to give thanks to Almighty God for a great mercy."

And after that he never alluded to the adventure again. I told the
story to Prometesky in his absence, and we never mentioned it more.

Indeed the next thing Harold said, as he addressed his envelope, was,
"It is a pity to lose this room."

"There is one that I can fit up like it," I said. "All the things here
are mine." And then I was glad to divert his attention by proposing to
go and inspect Mount Eaton, as soon as he had had some much-needed
food, since Prometesky was out, and we at once plunged into the
"flitting" affairs, glad in them to stifle some of the pain that
Eustace had given, but on which we neither of us would dwell.

Was Harold changed, or had he only gone on growing in the course he had
begun? He was as simple and unconsciously powerful as ever, but there
was something there was not before, reminding me of the dawning of
Undine's soul.

He was called off in the middle of our consultation as to the house,
which was our common property,