er with
his glazing eyes, and tried to wag his tail and lick her hand, all
covered with blood. Mr. Gisborne spoke in a kind of sullen penitence:

'You should have kept the dog out of my way--a little poaching
varmint.'

At this very moment, Mignon stretched out his legs, and stiffened in
her arms--her lost Mary's dog, who had wandered and sorrowed with her
for years. She walked right into Mr. Gisborne's path, and fixed his
unwilling, sullen look with her dark and terrible eye.

'Those never throve that did me harm,' said she. 'I'm alone in the
world, and helpless; the more do the Saints in Heaven hear my prayers.
Hear me, ye blessed ones! hear me while I ask for sorrow on this bad,
cruel man. He has killed the only creature that loved me--the dumb
beast that I loved. Bring down heavy sorrow on his head for it, O ye
Saints! He thought that I was helpless, because he saw me lonely and
poor; but are not the armies of Heaven for the like of me?'

'Come, come,' said he, half-remorseful, but not one whit afraid.
'Here's a crown to buy thee another dog. Take it, and leave off
cursing! I care none for thy threats.'

'Don't you?' said she, coming a step closer, and changing her
imprecatory cry for a whisper which made the gamekeeper's lad,
following Mr. Gisborne, creep all over. 'You shall live to see the
creature you love best, and who alone loves you--ay, a human creature,
but as innocent and fond as my poor, dead darling--you shall see this
creature, for whom death would be too happy, become a terror and a
loathing to all, for this blood's sake. Hear me, O holy Saints, who
never fail them that have no other help!'

She threw up her right hand, filled with poor Mignon's life-drops; they
spirted, one or two of them, on his shooting-dress,--an ominous sight
to the follower. But the master only laughed a little, forced, scornful
laugh, and went on to the Hall. Before he got there, however, he took
out a gold piece, and bade the boy carry it to the old woman on his
return to the village. The lad was 'afeard,' as he told me in after
years; he came to the cottage, and hovered about, not daring to enter.
He peeped through the window at last; and by the flickering wood-flame,
he saw Bridget kneeling before the picture of our Lady of the Holy
Heart, with dead Mignon lying between her and the Madonna. She was
praying wildly, as her outstretched arms betokened. The lad shrank away
in redoubled terror; and contented himself with sl