" says she, "and it was _not_ a collar like
this"--that is, a metal one with a hasp--"it was a strap with a buckle,
and his master said there was a cut in it. That was why it broke." Then,
seeing the curiosity on the faces of her hearers, who would have thought
it rather presumptuous to ask for an explanation, she volunteers a short
one ending with:--"The question is now, how can we get him back to his
master?" It never crossed her mind that any evil hap had come about.
After all, the dog's excitement and distress were no more than his
separation from his owner and his strange surroundings might have
brought about in any case. The whole thing was natural enough without
assuming disaster, especially as seen by the light of that cut in the
strap. The dog was a town-bred dog, and once out of his master's sight,
might get demoralised and all astray.

No active step for restoring Achilles to his owner seeming practicable,
nothing was left but to await the action that gentleman was sure to
adopt to make his loss known. Obviously the only course open to us now
was to take good care of the wanderer, and keep an ear on the alert for
news of his owner's identity. All seemed to agree to this, except
Achilles.

During the brief consultation the young lady had taken a seat on a clean
truss of hay, partly from an impulse most of us share, to sit or lie on
fresh hay whenever practicable; partly to promote communion with the
dog, who crouched at her feet worshipping, not quite with the
open-mouthed, loose-tongued joy one knows so well in a perfectly
contented dog, but now and again half-uttering a stifled sound--a sound
that might have ended in a wail. When, the point seeming established
that no further step could be taken at present, Lady Gwendolen rose to
depart, a sudden frenzy seized Achilles. There is nothing more pathetic
than a dog's effort to communicate his meaning--clear to him as to a
man--and his inability to do it for want of speech.

"You darling dog!" said Gwendolen. "What can it be he wants? Leave him
alone and let us see.... No--don't touch his chain!" For Achilles,
crouched one moment at her feet, the next leaping suddenly away, seemed
like to go mad with distress.

The young groom Tom said something with bated breath, as not presuming
to advise too loud. His mistress caught his meaning, if not his words.
"What!"--she spoke suddenly--"knows where he is--his master?" The
thought struck a cold chill to her heart. It