sheer disgust, I should have kicked every ladder down that helped me up.
I should have sacrificed everything to myself."

He stopped short and stared, for, in the mirror, he saw a girl passing
through the stable-yard towards the quarrelling dogs in the kennel. He
clapped his hand to his mouth to stop a cry. It was Rosalie.

He did not turn round but looked at her in the mirror, as though it were
the last look he might give on earth.

He could hear her voice speaking to the dogs: "Ah, my friends, ah, my
dears! I know you every one. Jo Portugais is here. I know your bark,
you, Harpy, and you, Lazybones, and you, Cloud and London! I know you
every one. I heard you as I came from Mass, beauty dears. Ah, you know
me, sweethearts? Ah, God bless you for coming! You have come to bring
us home; you have come to fetch us home--father and me." The paws of one
of the dogs was on her shoulder, and his nose was in her hair.

Charley heard her words, for the window was open, and he listened and
watched now with an infinite relief in his look. Her face was half
turned towards him. It was pale-very pale and sad. It was Rosalie as of
old--thank God, as of old!--but more beautiful in the touching sadness,
the far-off longing, of her look.

"I must go and see your master," she said to the dogs. "Down--down,
Lazybones!"

There was no time to lose--he must not meet her ere. He went into the
outer hall hastily. The servant was passing through. "If any one asks
for Jo Portugais," he said, "say that I'll be back to-morrow morning--I'm