In his bruised and broken body his heart stood still.

Nanette spoke to him.

Never in his life had he heard a voice like hers--soft and gentle, with a breaking sob in it; and then--miracle of miracles--she had dropped on her knees and her hands were at his head! In that instant his spirit leapt back through the generations--back beyond his father, and his father's father; back to that far day when the blood in the veins of his race was "just dog," and he romped with children, and listened to the call of woman, and worshipped at the shrine of humankind.

And now the woman had run quickly to the stove, and was back again with a dish of warm water and a soft cloth, and was bathing his head, talking to him all the time in that gentle, half-sobbing voice of pity and of love.

He closed his eyes--no longer afraid.