ns into Brown's Square when
his absent mind became conscious of the loud baying of a dog. At the next
moment the dog was at his feet, bounding about him with frantic delight,
leaping up to him as if trying to kiss him, and uttering meanwhile the
most tender, the most true, the most pitiful cries of love.

It was his own dog, the bloodhound Don!

His unworthy thoughts were, chased away at the sight of this one faithful
friend remaining, and he was stooping to fondle the great creature, to
pull at the long drapery of its ears and the pendulous folds of its
glorious forehead, when a short, sharp cry caused him to lift his head.

"Thet's 'im!" said somebody, and then he was aware that a group of men
with evil faces had gathered round. He knew them in a moment: the
publican with his bandaged head, Sharkey, who had served his time and
been released from prison, and Pincher and Hawkins, who were out on bail.
They had all been drinking. The publican, who carried a stick, was drunk,
and the "knocker-up" was staggering on a crutch.

Then came a hideous scene. The four men began to taunt John Storm, to
take off their hats and bow to him in mock honour. "His Lordship, I
believe '" said one. "His Reverend Lordship, if you please!" said
another.

"Leave me; for God's sake, leave me!" said John.

But their taunts became more and more menacing. "Wot abart the end uv the
world, Father?" "Didn't ye tell me to sell my bit uv biziness?" "And
didn't ye say you'd cured me? and look at me now!"

"Don't, I tell you, don't!" cried John, and he moved away.

They followed and began to push him. Then he stopped and cried in a loud
voice of struggle and agony: "Do you want to raise the devil in me? Go
home! Go home!"

But they only laughed and renewed their torment. His hat fell off and he
snatched at it to recover it. In doing so his hand struck somebody in the
face. "Strike a cripple, will ye?" said the publican, and he raised his
stick and struck a heavy blow on John's shoulder. At the next moment the
dog had leaped upon the man, and he was shrieking on the ground. The
"knocker-up" lifted his crutch and with the upper end of it he battered
at the dog's brains.

"Stop, man! stop, stop!--Don! Don!"

But the dog held on, and the man with the crutch continued to strike at
it, until Pincher, who had run to the other side of the street, came back
with a clasp knife and plunged it into the dog's neck. Then with a growl
and a whine and a pi