Fenwick could meet her here; for a mongrel fox-terrier--taken, a starving waif, out of the streets--had been his companion since almost the first month of his solitude.

Each stimulated the other, and they fell into those legends of dog-life in which every dog-lover believes, however sceptical he may be in other directions.

Till presently she said, with a sigh and a stiffening of her delicate features: 'But mine shows some symptoms of paralysis.

He was run over last summer.

I'm afraid it will be long and painful.' Fenwick replied that she should send for the vet.