ords, he
was incontinently and mercilessly pelted with such missiles as first
presented themselves. The unknown animal, which the reader, however, will
not be slow in recognizing to be the water-dog of Il Maledetto, received
these unusual visitations with some surprise, and rather awkwardly; for,
in his proper sphere, Nettuno had been quite as much accustomed to meet
with demonstrations of friendship from the race he so faithfully served,
as any of the far-famed and petted mastiffs of the convent. After dodging
sundry stones and clubs, as well as a pretty close attention to the
principal matter in hand would allow, and with a dexterity that did equal
credit to his coolness and muscle, a missile of formidable weight took the
unfortunate follower of Maso in the side, and sent him howling from the
stage. At the next instant, his master was at the throat of the offender,
throttling him till he was black in the face.

The unlucky stone had come from Conrad. Forgetful of his assumed
character, he had joined in the hue and cry against a dog whose character
and service should have been sufficiently known to him, at least, to prove
his protection, and had given; the crudest blow of all. It has been
already seen that there was little friendship between Maso and the
pilgrim, for the former appeared to have an instinctive dislike of the
latter's calling, and this little occurrence was not of a character likely
to restore the peace between them.

"Thou, too!" cried the Italian, whose blood had mounted at the first
attack on his faithful follower, and which fairly boiled when he witnessed
the cowardly and wanton conduct of this new assailant--"art not satisfied
with feigning prayers and godliness with the credulous, but thou must even
feign enmity to my dog, because it is the fashion to praise the cur of St.
Bernard at the expense of all other brutes! Reptile!--dost not dread the
arm of an honest man, when raised against thee in just anger?"

"Friends--Vevaisans--honorable citizens!" gasped the pilgrim, as the gripe
of Maso permitted breath. "I am Conrad, a poor, miserable, repentant
pilgrim--Will ye see me murdered for a brute?"

Such a contest could not continue long in such a place. At first the
pressure of the curious, and the great density of the crowd, rather
favored the attack of the mariner; but in the end they proved his enemies
by preventing the possibility of escaping from those who were especially
charged with the care