The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

useless to expect this densely impenetrable personage to give me any help in relieving the suffering creature at our feet, I told her to request the housekeeper’s attendance with my compliments. She went out exactly as she had come in, grinning from ear to ear. As the door closed on her she said to herself softly, “It’s Baxter’s doings and Baxter’s dooty⁠—that’s what it is.” The housekeeper, a person of some education and intelligence, thoughtfully brought upstairs with her some milk and some warm water. The instant she saw the dog on the floor she started and changed colour. “Why, Lord bless me,” cried the housekeeper, “that must be Mrs. Catherick’s dog!” “Whose?” I asked, in the utmost astonishment. “ Mrs. Catherick’s. You seem to know Mrs. Catherick, Miss Halcombe?” “Not personally, but I have heard of her. Does she live here? Has she had any news of her daughter?” “No, Miss Halcombe, she came here to ask for news.” “When?” “Only yesterday. She said someone had reported that a stranger answering to the description of her daughter had been seen in our neighbourhood. No such report has reached us here, and no such report was known in the village, when I sent to make inquiries there on Mrs. Catherick’s account. She certainly brought this poor little dog with her when she came, and I saw it trot out after her