One hand, that which grasped the dog, was gloved, but the free hand was bare, and it was Dora who first understood, saw the glove at his feet, sprang to his side, and held it up to him, while he worked his hand into it, and she pulled it on for him.  Then he transferred his grasp from one hand to the other, and in that moment the powerful bloodhound made a desperate struggle, and managed to get one paw on the ground, and writhe itself round so as to fly at his face and make its teeth actually meet in his beard, a great mouthful of which it tore out, and we saw it champing the hairs, as he again swung it up, so that it could only make frantic contortions with its body and legs, while he held it at arm’s length with the iron strength of his wrists.

This had taken hardly three seconds, and in that time Jack Horsman and a keeper or two had been able to come up, but no one unarmed could give efficient aid, and Harold said, “I’ll take him to the yard.”

Mr. Horsman led the way, and as the keepers followed with several of the gentlemen, I was forced to let Harold vanish, carrying at arm’s length that immense dog, still making horrible rabid struggles.

I don’t clearly remember how we got back to the house.  Somebody had fainted, I believe, and there was much confusion; but I know nothing but that there was the report of a pistol, and, almost immediately after, I saw Harold coming up to the hall door with Dora lying back in his arms.  Then my eyes and ears grew clear, and I flew forward to ask the dreadful question.  “No,” he said, “she is only a little upset.”  Unperceived, that child had followed him down, holding the broken chain in which he might have tripped, and had stood by even while he set the poor beast on his feet, and held it for the merciful death shot.  It seemed that her purpose had been to suck the wound if he had been bitten, and when once she heard Mr. Horsman exclaim, “All safe, thank God!” she clung to Harold with an inarticulate gasp, in one of those hysterical agonies by which her womanhood from time to time asserted itself.  She could not breathe or speak, and he only begged for a place to lay her down.  Old Marianne Horsman, the quiet one of the family, took us to her own den, and, with me, insisted on looking well at Harold’s hands and face.  What might not that horrid leap have done?  But we convinced ourselves that those fangs had only caught his beard, where there was a visible gap, but no sign of a wound; and those riding-gloves had entirely guarded his hands.  How blessed the Providence, for ordinarily he never touched gloves, and common white kid ones would have availed little.  There was scarce time to speak of it, for the child required all our care, and was only just becoming calmer, as Harold held her, when the bride and bridegroom came in, she, red and eager, he, white and shaken, to summon us to the breakfast.  “Don’t go!” was her moan, half asleep.