occurred during these last
days of my vengeance that struck a sharp pain to my heart, together
with a sense of the bitterest anger. I had gone up to the villa
somewhat early in the morning, and on crossing the lawn I saw a dark
form stretched motionless on one of the paths that led directly up to
the house. I went to examine it, and started back in horror--it was my
dog Wyvis shot dead. His silky black head and forepaws were dabbled in
blood--his honest brown eyes were glazed with the film of his dying
agonies. Sickened and infuriated at the sight, I called to a gardener
who was trimming the shrubbery.

"Who has done this?" I demanded.

The man looked pityingly at the poor bleeding remains, and said, in a
low voice:

"It was madama's order, signor. The dog bit her yesterday; we shot him
at daybreak."

I stooped to caress the faithful animal's body, and as I stroked the
silky coat my eyes were dim with tears.

"How did it happen?" I asked in smothered accents. "Was your lady hurt?"

The gardener shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

"Ma!--no! But he tore the lace on her dress with his teeth and grazed
her hand. It was little, but enough. He will bite no more--povera
bestia!"

I gave the fellow five francs.

"I liked the dog," I said briefly, "he was a faithful creature. Bury
him decently under that tree," and I pointed to the giant cypress on
the lawn, "and take this money for your trouble."

He looked surprised but grateful, and promised to do my bidding. Once
more sorrowfully caressing the fallen head of perhaps the truest friend
I ever possessed, I strode hastily into the house, and met Nina coming
out of her morning-room, clad in one of her graceful trailing garments,
in which soft lavender hues were blended like the shaded colors of late
and early violets.

"So Wyvis has been shot?" I said, abruptly.

She gave a slight shudder.

"Oh, yes; is it not sad? But I was compelled to have it done. Yesterday
I went past his kennel within reach of his chain, and he sprung
furiously at me for no reason at all. See!" And holding up her small
hand she showed me three trifling marks in the delicate flesh. "I felt
that you would be so unhappy if you thought I kept a dog that was at
all dangerous, so I determined to get rid of him. It is always painful
to have a favorite animal killed; but really Wyvis belonged to my poor
husband, and I think he has never been quite safe since his master's
death, and now Giacomo is