The color flooded her cheeks as I said this, but she did not draw away her hand. "A woman would have to be very greatly loved by a man, and love him very greatly in return, to be all that to him," she said.
"I can only speak for myself, Miss Temple—Muriel. I love you very greatly, so much indeed, that I am telling you of it now—when I have the opportunity—instead of waiting, as no doubt you think I should. But, were I to wait, I do not know what trick of fate might intervene to prevent me. Your father might suddenly be seized with the idea of going to India, or Japan, or somewhere else, and I should be unable to tell you what has been singing in my heart ever since the first moment I saw you. We have passed through much trouble, you and I, and that has brought us closer to each other than years of formal acquaintanceship might ever have done. I want you—I need you—I love you, and I shall always love you." I drew her to me, unresisting. "Do you love me, dear?" I said, and, when she put her arms about my neck and her head upon my breast I knew what her answer was, and that I had found my heart's desire.
It must have been half an hour later when Major Temple burst into the library, in a great state of excitement. We heard him coming along the hall, and I had made up my mind to ask his consent to our marriage as soon as he came in. I failed to do so, because he seemed much excited, and asked us at once if we had seen anything of Boris, his favorite mastiff. He had missed the dog that morning, before setting out for Exeter he said, but his mind was so troubled by the prospect of the hearing, and his daughter's arrest, that he gave the matter but scant thought. He had suddenly realized, a few moments ago, while writing some letters in his study, that the dog was not in his favorite place upon the hearthrug and that in fact he had not seen him since his return from Exeter. He made inquiries at once, but none of the servants had seen the dog since the day before. I remembered at once the howling that I had heard during the night and spoke of it. The Major thought for a moment, then raised his head with a sudden look of comprehension. "Don't you remember, Mr. Morgan, that Boris was with us when we made our examination of the green room last night? I do not recollect seeing him after that. We all left the room very hurriedly, you will remember, having just learned that my daughter could not be found. The poor fellow has no doubt been locked in there ever since, and it was his howls that you heard. Wait until I see if I can find another key—there are two about the house somewhere. Sergeant McQuade has the one usually left in the door."
He disappeared for a few moments, then returned with several keys upon a wire ring. "One of these will open it, I think," he said, and lead the way to the green room, Muriel and I following him. "Poor dog," he said as we hastily ascended the stairs, "he must be dying for food, or a drink of water."
Upon our arrival at the door, Major Temple tried several of the keys before finding one that would open it. At last the lock turned, however, and he attempted to push open the door. It refused to open, and felt, he said, as though some heavy object had been placed against it, upon the inside of the room. I went to his assistance and by pushing with our united strength forced the door inward sufficiently to allow us to enter. The Major took a candle from the room occupied by myself, across the hall, and we squeezed our way into the room with some difficulty, Muriel remaining outside. What was our astonishment to see lying upon the floor, his head close to the door, as though struck down in an effort to escape, the Major's mastiff, Boris, stone dead, his eyes wide open and staring, his mouth distended and still covered with foam, his face wearing an expression of intense fear. It was a horrible sight, and we looked at each other in alarm. "My God," said the Major—"this room is accursed. Let us go." He started for the door.
"Shall I come in?" we heard Muriel asking from the hall without.
"No—no!" the Major commanded. "We will be with you in a moment." He motioned to me to go ahead, and he followed me and closed the door.
"What is the matter?" asked his daughter as she saw our startled faces. "Isn't Boris there?"
"Yes, he is there." The Major's tone was grave and solemn. "He is there, Muriel, and he is dead. I do not know what is the secret of that room, but I shall never enter it again." He turned from us, and lead the way down the hall.
"Dead!" said Muriel, turning to me. "Is it really true?"
I assured her that it was.
She glanced at me with a scared sort of a look. "Do you think," she said, slowly, "that Li Min's story of the vengeance of Buddha could really be true, after all?"
"No, I do not," I said, though I was not so absolutely sure as I pretended to be. "It is hardly likely that Buddha would turn his vengeance upon an inoffensive dog, who had certainly done nothing to incur it. It is a curious and unfortunate coincidence, that is all. The dog has no doubt died of fright, caused by his unusual situation, coupled perhaps with lack of food, water and air. Or he may have dashed himself against the door in his struggles and died of apoplexy. I've frequently heard of dogs dying from some such cause, especially old ones. How old was Boris?"
"About four years," said Muriel, and I knew from the way in which she spoke that she did not believe my explanation of the affair in the least.
When we reached the floor below, the Major directed Gibson and one of the other servants to remove the dog's body from the room, and we all retired to the library, where we discussed the matter for a long time. Major Temple, on sober thought, was inclined to agree with my view of the matter, but in spite of our attempts to regard the event in a common-sense light, we could not shake off a mysterious feeling of dread at the thought of these two creatures, a man and a dog having so inexplicably come to their ends in this room. In Ashton's case, at least, there was a tangible enough evidence of the cause of death, but in the case of Boris there was none. Major Temple stepped out and examined the dog's body when the men brought it down from above, and upon his return reported that there was no wound or mark of any sort upon the animal that could account for its death.
Miss Temple essayed a few airs upon the piano, but our thoughts were not attuned to music, and presently, as it was close to eleven o'clock, she said good-night to us both and left us. As she passed me on her way from the room, she leaned over and kissed me upon the forehead, and I turned to find the Major staring at me in perplexity. Poor man, so many strange things had happened during the course of this eventful day that I fear he would not have been greatly surprised had I suddenly stood upon my head and attempted to recite the Jabberwock backward. I at once told him of my love for Muriel, and of her feelings toward me, and asked his consent to our marriage. "It is a bit sudden, I'll admit, Sir," I concluded, "but none the less real and true for all that."
"But, my dear Sir," gasped the Major, evidently very much taken aback by my flow of words, and my earnest and somewhat excited manner, "I hardly know you. How can you expect me to reply to such a question, to give my consent to your marriage with my daughter, when I know absolutely nothing of your position, your prospects, or your income?"
I expected his objections and answered them at once. "You are quite right, Sir, of course," I answered. "As for my income, I am making close to a thousand pounds a year from my profession, which, as you may know, is that of an illustrator for books and for the magazines. In addition to that, I have an income from my father's estate of 800 pounds a year. At my mother's death I shall have as much more. My father was Edward Morgan, of whom you may perhaps have heard. He was a well-known civil engineer, and railway constructor, and distinguished himself in India, in the construction of the great sea-wall at Calcutta. My mother is still living, and I know she would be most happy to welcome Muriel as a daughter, for I have no brothers or sisters, and she is very lonely."
At the mention of my profession and my income I noticed that Major Temple's frown relaxed somewhat, but when I mentioned my father's name and the fact of his having spent a part of his life in India, he fairly beamed.
"Are you really the son of Edward Morgan?" he cried, rising. "Why, my boy,
