As he had bent to pat the collie, she had broken into a run, and now she was half way across the lawn, on her way to the lighted veranda.

Vexed at her disobedience in not taking his advice and absenting herself from impending trouble, Gavin Brice followed.

Bobby Burns gamboled along at his side, leaping high in the air in an effort to lick Brice's face, setting the night astir with a fanfare of joyous barking, imperiling Gavin's every step with his whisking body, and in short conducting himself as does the average high-strung collie whose master breaks into a run.
The noise brought a man out of the hallway onto the veranda, to see the cause of the racket.

He was tall, massive, clad in snowy white, and with a golden beard that shone in the lamplight.

Milo Standish, as he stood thus, under the glow of the veranda lights, was splendid target for any skulking marksman.