was
shaking very visibly in his hand.

"Did you look up?" he asked; "when you were in the pavilion, I mean?"

"No; why should I? The dog was on the ground. Besides--"

"Let us go down to the pavilion," he whispered. "I want to see for
myself if--if--"

"If what, Jared?"

He turned his eyes on me, but did not answer. Stooping, I lifted the
lantern and put it in his hand. He was quaking like a leaf, but there
was a determination in his face far beyond the ordinary. What made him
quake--he who knew of this dog only by hearsay--and what, in spite of
this fear, gave him such resolution? I followed in his wake to see what
it was.

The moon still shone clear upon the lawn, and it was with a certain
renewal of my former apprehensions that I approached the spot on the
wall where I had seen what I was satisfied not to see again. But though
I glanced that way--what man could have avoided it?--I perceived nothing
but the bare paint, and we went on and passed in without a word, Jared
leading the way.

But once on the threshold of the pavilion itself, it was for him to show
the coward. Turning, he made me a gesture; one I did not understand; and
seeing that I did not understand it, he said, after a fearful look
around:

"Do not mind the dog; that was but an appearance. Lift your eyes to the
ceiling--over there--at the extreme end toward the south--do you
see--_what_ do you see?"

"Nothing," I replied, amazed at what struck me as utter folly.

"Nothing?" he repeated in a relieved voice, as he lifted up his lantern.
"Ah!" came in a sort of muttered shriek from his lips, as he pointed up,
here and there, along the farther ceiling, over which the light now
played freely and fully. "What is that spot, and that spot, and that?
They were not there to-day. I was in here before the banquet, and _I_
would have seen. What is it? Master, what is it? They call it--"

"Well, well, what do they call it?" I asked impatiently.

"Blood! Do you not see that it is blood? What else is red and shiny and
shows in such great drops--"

"Nonsense!" I vociferated, taking the lantern in my own hand. "Blood on
the ceiling of my old pavilion? Where could it come from? There was no
quarrel, no fight; only hilarity--"

"Where did the dog come from?" he whispered.

I dropped my arm, staring at him in mingled anger and a certain
half-understood sympathy.

"You think these stains--" I began.

"Are as unreal as the dog? Yes, master."

Feeling