He hated this man, who lay back in the trail with his lifeless face turned up to the deluge that poured out of the sky.

And he was afraid of the man, even as he hated him, and he believed that Nada was afraid of him, and that because of her fear she was crying there in the middle of the floor, with Father John patting her shoulder and stroking her hair, and saying things to her which he could not understand.

He wanted to go to her.

He wanted to feel himself close against her, as Nada had held him so often in those hours when she had unburdened her grief and her unhappiness to him.

But even stronger than this desire was the one to follow his master.
He went to the door, and thrust his nose against the crack at the bottom of it.