had that
unseeing look, often noticeable in a very old dog. Yet there was in them,
and in the whole pose of his tiny body, an anguish of anxiety, which
could not have escaped a genuine dog-lover. Even Lady Ingleby became
partially aware of it. She stooped and patted his head.

"Poor little Peter," she said, more kindly. "It is horrid, for us both,
having Michael so far away at this tiresome war. But he will come home
before long; and we shall forget all the anxiety and loneliness. It will
be spring again. Michael will have you properly clipped, and we will go
to Brighton, where you enjoy trotting about, and hearing people call you
'The British Lion.' I verily believe you consider yourself the size of
the lions in Trafalgar Square! I cannot imagine why a great big man, such
as Michael, is so devoted to a tiny scrap of a dog, such as you! Now, if
you were a Great Dane, or a mighty St. Bernard--! However, Michael loves
us both, and we both love Michael; so we must be nice to each other,
little Peter, while he is away."

Myra Ingleby smiled, drew the folds of her cloak more closely around her,
and moved on. A small white shadow, with no wag to its tail, followed
dejectedly behind.

And the dead leaves, loosing their hold of the sapless branches,
fluttered to the sodden turf; and the soft "drip, drip" of autumn fell
all around.

The door of the lower hall opened. A footman, bringing a telegram, came
quickly out. His features were set, in well-trained impassivity; but his
eyelids flickered nervously as he handed the silver salver to his
mistress.

Lady Ingleby's lovely face paled to absolute whiteness beneath her large
beaver hat; but she took up the orange envelope with a steady hand,
opening it with fingers which did not tremble. As she glanced at the
signature, the colour came back to her cheeks.

"From Dr. Brand," she said, with an involuntary exclamation of relief;
and the waiting footman turned and nodded furtively toward the house. A
maid, at a window, dropped the blind, and ran to tell the anxious
household all was well.

Meanwhile, Lady Ingleby read her telegram.

Visiting patient in your neighbourhood. Can you put me up for the
night? Arriving 4.30.

Deryck Brand.

Lady Ingleby turned to the footman. "William," she said, "tell Mrs.
Jarvis, Sir Deryck Brand is called to this neighbourhood, and will stay
here to-night. They can light a fire at once in the magnolia room, and
prepare it for him. He