“I thought it was no use,” she said, crying at his tone.  “It was so unkind to take me away from Lucy,” and whereas she hardly ever shed tears and was now far from restored after the fright, when she once began we could hardly stop her weeping, and were thankful when she was soothed into another sleep, which we durst not peril by a word.

It deepened and lasted so that Harold carried her upstairs still asleep, and laid her on her own little bed.  Then he came out with me into my dear old sitting-room, where, without another word, he knelt in the old place and said, “That psalm, please Lucy.”

“I think we ought to give thanks in church,” I said, presently.

“Whatever is right,” he said fervently.

“It was the greatest escape you ever had,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, shuddering; “at least it seemed so.  I really thought the dog had bitten me when he flew in my face.  It felt just like it, and I was very near giving up.  I don’t mean letting him go, but not heeding whether he touched me or not.  It kept on haunting me till I was alone with Dora, and could examine at the looking-glass.”

Of course I was not content till I had likewise again convinced myself by searching into the beard, and then I added, “Ah! this is worse than the lion, though then you were really hurt.”

“Yes, but there one knew the worst.  Besides,” he said, again overcoming a shudder, “I know my feeling about dogs is a weakness owing to my sin.  ‘Deliver me from the power of the dog,’ to me expresses all the power of evil.”

Then he sat down and took a pen to write to Mr. Crosse.  “Harold Alison wishes to give thanks to Almighty God for a great mercy.”

And after that he never alluded to the advenure again.  I told the story to Prometesky in his absence, and we never mentioned it more.

Indeed the next thing Harold said, as he addressed his envelope, was, “It is a pity to lose this room.”

“There is one that I can fit up like it,” I said.  “All the things here are mine.”  And then I was glad to divert his attention by proposing to go and inspect Mount Eaton, as soon as he had had some much-needed food, since Prometesky was out, and we at once plunged into the “flitting” affairs, glad in them to stifle some of the pain that Eustace had given, but on which we neither of us would dwell.

Was Harold changed, or had he only gone on growing in the course he had begun?  He was as simple and unconsciously powerful as ever, but there was something there was not before, reminding me of the dawning of Undine’s soul.

He was called off in the middle of our consultation as to the house, which was our common property, by a message that Mr. Crabbe would be glad of a few minutes with him.

“Was there any fresh annoyance about the Hydriots?” I asked, when he came back.

“Oh, no!  The rascal is come over to my side.  What do you think he wanted to say?  That he had been to look at my grandfather’s will, and he thinks you could drive a coach and horses through it; and he proposes to me to upset it, and come in as heir-at-law!  The scoundrel!”