Left alone the old dog paced slowly back to his cave. The day was
hot. His massive coat was a burden. Life was growing more of a
problem than of old it had been. Also, from time to time, lately,
his heart did queer things that annoyed Lad. At some sudden
motion or undue exertion it had a new way of throbbing and of
hammering against his ribs so violently as to make him pant.
Lad did not understand this. And, as with most things he did not
understand, it vexed him. This morning, for example,--the heat of
the day and the fatigue of his ramble down through the rose
garden to the lake and back, had set it to thumping painfully. He
was glad to lie at peace in his beloved cave, in the cool
music-room; and sleep away the hours until his deities should
return from that miserable dog-show. He slept.
And so an hour wore on; and then another and another.
At the show, the Mistress developed one of her sick headaches.
She said nothing of it. But the Master saw the black shadows
grow, under her eyes; and the color go out of her face; and he
noted the little pain-lines around her mouth.
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