It seemed to understand that some harm had befallen its favourite--for Henri was its favourite--and, curling itself up beside his body, it licked his hands and moaned disconsolately in a manner almost human.

That's all there is to tell, sir, save that at times the horrid change, the appalling smile, repeat themselves when either the chevalier or his son bend to put a head within its jaws, and but for their watchfulness and quickness the tragedy of that other awful night would surely be repeated.

Sir, it is not natural; I know now, as surely as if the lion itself had spoken, that someone is at the bottom of this ghastly thing, that some human agency is at work, some unknown enemy of the chevalier's is doing something, God alone knows what or why, to bring about his death as his son's was brought about." And here, for the first time, the chevalier's daughter spoke.
"Ah, tell him all, Jim, tell him all," she said, in her pretty broken English.

"Monsieur, may the good God in heaven forgive me, if I wrong her; but--but--Ah, Monsieur Cleek, sometimes I feel that she, my stepmother, and that man, that 'rider' who knows not how to ride as the artist should--monsieur, I cannot help it, but I feel that they are at the bottom of it." "Yes, but why ?" queried Cleek.

"I have heard of your father's second marriage, mademoiselle, and of this Signor Antonio Martinelli, to whom you allude.