stopped at one of the shops
in High Street, leaving Erica in the carriage. She was leaning back
restfully, watching a beautiful chestnut horse which was being held by a
ragged boy at the door of the bank just opposite, when her attention was
suddenly aroused by an ominous howling and barking. The chestnut horse
began to kick, and the boy had as much as he could to hold him. Starting
forward, Erica saw that a fox terrier had been set upon by another and
larger dog, and that the two were having a desperate fight. The fox
terrier was evidently fighting against fearful odds, for he was an old
dog, and not nearly so strong as his antagonist; the howls and barks
grew worse and worse; some of the passengers ran off in a fright, others
watched from a safe distance, but not one interfered.

Now Erica was a great lover of animals, and a passionate lover of
justice. Furious to see men and boys looking on without attempting to
stop the mischief, she sprang out of the carriage, and, rushing up to
the combatants, belabored the big dog with her parasol. It had a strong
stick, but she hit so vehemently that it splintered all to bits, and
still the dog would not leave its victim. Then, in her desperation, she
hit on the right remedy; with great difficulty she managed to grasp him
by the throat, and, using all her force, so nearly suffocated him that
he was obliged to loosen his hold. At that moment, too, a strong man
rushed forward and dealt him such a blow that he bounded off with a
yell of pain, and ran howling down the street. Erica bent over the fox
terrier then; the big dog had mangled it frightfully, it was covered
with blood, and moaned piteously.

"Waif! My poor waif!" exclaimed a voice which she seemed to know. "Has
that brute killed you?"

She looked up and saw Donovan Farrant; he recognized her, but they
were both too much absorbed in the poor dog's condition to think of any
ordinary greeting.

"Where will you take him?" asked Erica.

Donovan stooped down to examine poor Waif's injuries.

"I fear there is little to be done," he said. "But we might take him
across to the chemist's opposite. Will you hold my whip for me?"

She took it, and with infinite skill and tenderness Donovan lifted the
fox terrier, while Erica hurried on in front to tell the chemist. They
took Waif into a little back room, and did all they could for him; but
the chemist shrugged his shoulders.

"Better kill the poor brute at once, Mr. Farrant,"