be conveyed to his ears. It is a pattering as of some animal's
paws, going in rapid gait. He cannot imagine what sort of creature it
may be; in truth he has no time to think, before hearing the sound close
behind his head, the animal approaching from that direction. Soon after
he feels a hot breath strike against his brow, with something still
warmer touching his cheek. It is the tongue of a dog!

"Brasfort!"

Brasfort it is, cowering before his face, filling his ears with a soft
whimpering, sweet as any speech ever heard. For he has seen the jackals
retreat, and knows they will not return. His strong stag-hound is more
than a match for the whole pack of cowardly creatures. As easily as it
has scattered, can it destroy them.

Clancy's first feeling is one of mingled pleasure and surprise. For he
fancies himself succoured, released from his earth-bound prison, so near
to have been his grave.

The glad emotion is alas! short-lived; departing as he perceives it to
be only a fancy, and his perilous situation, but little changed or
improved. For what can the dog do for him? True he may keep off the
coyotes, but that will not save his life. Death must come all the same.
A little later, and in less horrid shape, but it must come. Hunger,
thirst, one or both will bring it, surely if slowly.

"My brave Brasfort! faithful fellow!" he says apostrophising the hound;
"You cannot protect me from them. But how have you got here?"

The question is succeeded by a train of conjecture, as follows:--

"They took the dog with them. I saw one lead him away. They've let him
loose, and he has scented back on the trail? That's it. Oh! if Jupiter
were but with him! No fear of their letting him off--no."

During all this time Brasfort has continued his caresses, fondling his
master's head, affectionately as a mother her child.

Again Clancy speaks, apostrophising the animal.

"Dear old dog! you're but come to see me die. Well; it's something to
have you here--like a friend beside the death-bed. And you'll stay with
me long as life holds out, and protect me from those skulking creatures?
I know you will. Ah! You won't need to stand sentry long. I feel
growing fainter. When all's over you can go. I shall never see her
more; but some one may find, and take you there. She'll care for, and
reward you for this fidelity."

The soliloquy is brought to a close, by the hound suddenly changing
attitude. All at once it