"O Malone, Malone!"

"Down! down! down!" cried the high voice.

"He really is worrying them!" exclaimed Shirley. "They have struck him.
A blow is what he is not used to, and will not take."

Out she ran. A gentleman was fleeing up the oak staircase, making for
refuge in the gallery or chambers in hot haste; another was backing fast
to the stairfoot, wildly flourishing a knotty stick, at the same time
reiterating, "Down! down! down!" while the tawny dog bayed, bellowed,
howled at him, and a group of servants came bundling from the kitchen.
The dog made a spring; the second gentleman turned tail and rushed after
his comrade. The first was already safe in a bedroom; he held the door
against his fellow--nothing so merciless as terror. But the other
fugitive struggled hard; the door was about to yield to his strength.

"Gentlemen," was uttered in Miss Keeldar's silvery but vibrating tones,
"spare my locks, if you please. Calm yourselves! Come down! Look at
Tartar; he won't harm a cat."

She was caressing the said Tartar. He lay crouched at her feet, his fore
paws stretched out, his tail still in threatening agitation, his
nostrils snorting, his bulldog eyes conscious of a dull fire. He was an
honest, phlegmatic, stupid, but stubborn canine character. He loved his
mistress and John--the man who fed him--but was mostly indifferent to
the rest of the world. Quiet enough he was, unless struck or threatened
with a stick, and that put a demon into him at once.

"Mr. Malone, how do you do?" continued Shirley, lifting up her mirth-lit
face to the gallery. "That is not the way to the oak parlour; that is
Mrs. Pryor's apartment. Request your friend Mr. Donne to evacuate. I
shall have the greatest pleasure in receiving him in a lower room."

"Ha! ha!" cried Malone, in hollow laughter, quitting the door, and
leaning over the massive balustrade. "Really that animal alarmed Donne.
He is a little timid," he proceeded, stiffening himself, and walking
trimly to the stairhead. "I thought it better to follow, in order to
reassure him."

"It appears you did. Well, come down, if you please.--John" (turning to
her manservant), "go upstairs and liberate Mr. Donne.--Take care, Mr.
Malone; the stairs are slippery."

In truth they were, being of polished oak. The caution came a little
late for Malone. He had slipped already in his stately descent, and was
only saved from falling by a clutch at the banisters, which made the
whole structure