He caught Hamlet's head, gave it a kiss, then jumped in, catching a last glimpse of the family grouped at the door, the servants at the window, the old garden with the dead leaves gathered upon it, Hamlet held, struggling, in Mary's arms.
He choked down his sobs, felt the ten shillings in his pocket, then with a mighty resolve, to which it seemed that the labours of Hercules were as nothing, leaned out and waved his hand.
The cab rolled off.
Hamlet lay down upon the mat just inside the hall-door.

Someone tried to pull him away.

He growled, showing his teeth.

His master had gone out.
He would wait for his return--and no one should move him..