Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. I've watched this lad—this Sheppard—from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose. All she had found was the love of this dog. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON.
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