t that she and Miriam would be more intimate
than ever, because Mr. Haverley would be so monopolized by his wife.

This was all very pleasant to Miriam, but it did not in the least cause
her to regret Ralph's choice. Dora was a lovely girl, but it was now
plainer than ever that she was also a very superior one, whereas Cicely
was just like other people and did not pretend to be anything more, and,
moreover, she would not have wished her brother to marry anyone whose
idea of matrimony was the monopoly of her husband, and she knew that
Cicely had no such idea. But Dora was the dearest of good friends, Miriam
was very sure of that.

The Bannister carriage had scarcely left the Cobhurst gates when the dog,
Congo, came bounding after it. Dora looked at him as his great brown eyes
were turned up towards her, and his tail was wagging with the joy of
following her once more, she knew that his training was so good that she
had only to tell him to go back and he would obey her, sorrowfully, with
his tail hanging down. He was Ralph's dog now, and she ought to send him
back, but would she? She looked at him for a few moments, considering the
question, and then she said,--

"Come, Congo" and with a bound he was in the carriage and at her feet.
"You were not an out and out gift, poor fellow," she said, stroking his
head. "I expected you to be partly my dog, all the same, and now we will
see if she will let him claim you."

The dog heard all this, but Dora spoke so low, the coachman could not
hear it, and she did not intend that any one else should know it unless
the dog told.

Ralph did not miss Congo until the next morning, and then, having become
convinced that the dog must have followed the Bannister carriage, he
expressed, in the presence of Cicely, his uncertainty as to whether it
would be better for him to go after the dog himself, or to send Mike.

"If I were you," said Miss Cicely, "I would not send for him at all. If
Miss Bannister really wants to get rid of him, and does not know anybody
else who would take him, she may send him back herself. But it seems to
me that a setter is not the best sort of a dog for a farm like this. I
should think you ought to have a big mastiff, or something of that sort."

"It is a great pity," said Ralph, musingly, "that he happened to be
unchained."

"The more I think about it," said Cicely, "the less I like setters. They
are so intimately connected with the death of the beautiful. Did