His eyes were still on her face: he saw a queer throbbing in her bare white throat, and then a trembling of her lips as she looked up at the man with a wonderful look.

He, too, knelt down beside them, and put his arm about the girl again, and patted the dog on his head.

Kazan did not like the man's touch.

He mistrusted it, as nature had taught him to mistrust the touch of all men's hands, but he permitted it because he saw that it in some way pleased the girl.
"Kazan, old boy, you wouldn't hurt her, would you ?" said his master softly.

"We both love her, don't we, boy?
Can't help it, can we?
And she's ours, Kazan, all _ours_! She belongs to you and to me, and we're going to take care of her all our lives, and if we ever have to we'll fight for her like hell--won't we?
Eh, Kazan, old boy ?" For a long time after they left him where he was lying on the rug, Kazan's eyes did not leave the girl.