he felt too earnestly, too deeply; a man of few words, save when keenly moved or uracil interested, he could not give himself to the utterance of those airy nothings, while all his life was stirred with passion he could not name.
At that moment the great Servian hound entered through the open window from the terrace, and stood looking at him with its wolf-crest up, its fine eyes watchful and menacing, and a low angry growl challenging him as a stranger. It was a magnificent brute, massive in build, lithe in limb, pure bred, and nearly as tall as a young deer.
Erceldoune turned to him and stretched out his hand.
"Ah! there is my gallant friend. I owe him a debt too."
The animal stood a second looking at him, then went and laid down like a lion couchant at her feet.
She laid her hand on his great head—a hand of exceeding firmness and elegance, with the sapphires and diamonds glittering there, which Mother Veronica had noted, with a recluse's quick appreciation of worldly things.
"You must forgive him if he be discourteous; he has so often been my only champion, that he is apt to be a little raah in his chivalry."
