Page:Weird Tales Volume 44 Number 7 (1952-11).djvu/17

 AH happy and frisky and wagging her tail. They found what was left of the little dog, three miles on the moors, but Mr. Glenn said it couldn't be so. He said the boy was lying."

Mrs. Bunty dipped a reflective brush in the bucket of soapy water.

"It was about then that Mrs. Glenn stopped trying to make friends with Jet."

Moira felt a little sick. On impulse she said, "You don't like Jet, do you, Mrs. Bunty? Are year afraid of her?"

The housekeeper put her brush down. She did not answer for a moment. When she did, it was to nod toward a stout ash stick leaning in a corner by the stove.

"I'm not afraid of her—no. But there are bad dogs as well as bad people. I'd not stop in this house without that stick for company."

Moira's eyes went to the stick for a second, and then she turned away. Gossiping with a servant, she thought shamefacedly. And probably nothing but village talk, all of it. Prejudice and dislike: I'll close my mind to it.

HEN she had finished unpacking, she spent the day in not unpleasant exploration. There was a savage beauty in that barren spot that somehow explained the hold it had on Charles. She followed the little ravine leading from the house to the sea, and clambered over the rocks tumbled about the water's edge.

Charles found her standing there, gazing out to sea, her hair blown straight back by the strong salt wind. When she heard his voice she turned and held out her hands. Her face was alight.

"Oh, Charles, isn't it splendid? This is where I'm going to spend my time!"

For just that instant she noticed an odd look of strain about Charles' face, and then it was gone. He kissed her and held her to him for a moment.

"Darling, I did make an ass of myself last night! Can you forget it?"

"Darling, there were two of us!" answered Moira promptly. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him again. "Let's forget it!" When he released her, she saw that he was staring at the rocks beyond her. The look of strain was intensified.

"Look!" She pointed to a pool just below them, hemmed in by rocks on the shoreward side, except for a narrow passage. "That's where I'm going battling tomorrow!"

A muscle twitched uncontrollably in Charles' cheek. Turning, he pulled her roughly along the path away from the sea. The hand gripping her arm was shaking.

"Charles, what—"

He didn't look at her.

"Get away from there!" he said harshly.

"Get away, stay away! Get away from those rocks!"

He pulled her faster up the path, so fast that she stumbled.

"Charles, stop it! Tell me why—"

But suddenly she knew why. She stared at him with horror.

"Oh Charles, did—? Is that—?"

Charles' pace slackened a little, but he still wouldn't look at her.

"She couldn't swim." His voice was harsh. "She just—walked into the water. There. There in that pool. Nobody ever knew why. Jet found her when the tide went out. She—Jet stood guard over her. I found Jet there, between the rocks, and Caroline lying on the sand. The tide—the tide went out, and left Caroline lying in the bottom of the pool."

She could see it. She saw Caroline lying quite still in a few clear inches of water, Jet silently watching. Her scalp prickled.

"Charles—"

"Here's Jet," he said, in a different voice. "Mrs. Bunty's let her out. Hi, girl! Good dog!"

Jet bounded down the ravine with her ears back, her whole face one laugh of delight.

"Good dog!" echoed Moira faintly. She held out her hand. "Come then! Come along, Jet!"

With a shock of utter unbelief she saw the dog come toward her, wagging her black stub of a tail with a placating whine.

"You see?" Charles was triumphant. "I told you she'd make friends!"