"What the dooce did he mean by that, eh?" said the Colonei blankly. "Don't know," said Travers; "suppose we go and inspect the hole?" But before that I had contrived to draw near it myself, in deadly fear lest the Frenchman's last words had contained some innuendo which I had not understood. It was light enough still for me to see something, at the unexpected horror of which I very nearly fainted. That thrice accursed poodle which I had been insane enough to attempt to foist upon the Colonel must, it seems, have buried his supper the night before very near the spot in which I had laid Bingo, and in his attempts to exhume his bone nad brought the remains of my victim to the surface! There the corpse lay, on the very top of the excavations. Time had not, of course, improved its appearance, which was ghastly in the extreme, but still plainly recognizable by the eye of affection. "It's a very ordinary hole," I gasped, putting myself before it and trying to turn them back. "Nothing in it nothing at all!" "Except one Algernon Weatherhead, Esq., eh?" whispered Travers jocosely in my ear. "No, but," persisted the Colonel, advancing, "look here! Has the dog damaged any of your shrubs?" "No, no!" I cried piteously, "quite the reverse. indoors now; it's getting so cold!" Let's all go "See, there is a shrub or something uprooted!" said the Colonel, still coming nearer that fatal hole. "Why, hullo, look there! What's that?" Lilian, who was by his side, gave a slight scream. she cried, "it looks like like Bingo!" "Uncle," The Colonel turned suddenly upon me. "Do you hear?" he demanded, in a choked voice. "You hear what she says ? Can't you speak out? Is that our Bingo?" I gave it up at last; I only longed to be allowed to crawl away under something! "Yes," I said in a dull whisper, as I sat down heavily on a garden seat, "yes . . . that's Bingo misfortune. . . shoot him . . . quite an accident!" There was a terrible explosion after that; they saw at last how I had deceived them, and put the very worst construction upon everything. Even now I writhe impotently at times, and my cheeks smart and tingle with humiliation, as I recall that scene the Colonel's very plain speaking, Lilian's passionate reproaches and contempt, and her aunt's speechless prostration of disappointment. I made no attempt to defend myself; I was not perhaps the complete villain they deemed me, but I felt dully that no doubt it all served me perfectly right. Still I do not think I am under any obligation to put their remarks down in black and white here. Travers had vanished at the first opportunity - whether out of delicacy, or the fear of breaking out into unseasonable mirth, I cannot say; and shortly afterwards the others came to where I sat silent with bowed head, and bade me a stern and final farewell. And then, as the last gleam of Lilian's white dress vanished down the garden path, I laid my head down on the table amongst the coffee-cups and cried like a beaten child. I got leave as soon as I could and went abroad. The morning after my return I noticed, while shaving, that there was a small square marble tablet placed against the wall of the Colonel's garden. I got my opera-glass and read and pleasant reading it was the following inscription: IN AFFECTIONATE MEMORY BINGO, SECRETLY AND CRUELLY PUT TO DEATH, IN COLD BLOOD, BY A NEIGHBOR AND FRIEND, JUNE, 1881. If this explanation of mine ever reaches my neighbors' eyes, I humbly hope they will have the humanity either to take away or tone down that tablet. They cannot conceive what I suffer, when curious visitors insist, as they do every day, in spelling out the words from our windows, and asking me countless questions about them! Sometimes I meet the Curries about the village, and, as they pass me with averted heads, I feel myself growing crimson. Travers is almost always with Lilian now. He has given her a dog a fox-terrier- and they take ostentatiously elaborate precautions to keep it out of my garden. I should like to assure them here that they need not be under any alarm. I have shot one dog. 390 ANTAR. ANTAR OF ANTARAH BEN SHEDAD EL ABSI; a famous classical Arab poet; born about the middle of the sixth century A.D.; died about 615 A.D. He is the author of one of the seven celebrated "suspended poems." He lauds the beauty of his mistress, and rehearses the story of his adventures in Arabia. Portions were translated into English verse by Terrick Hamilton (1820). THE VALOR OF ANTAR. (From Hamilton's Translation.) Now Antar was becoming a big boy, and grew up, and used to accompany his mother, Zebeeba, to the pastures, and he watched the cattle; and this he continued to do till he increased in stature. He used to walk and run about to harden himself, till at length his muscles were strengthened, his frame altogether more robust, his bones more firm and solid, and his speech correct. His days were passed in roaming about the mountain sides; and thus he continued till he attained his tenth year. [He now kills a wolf which had attacked his father's flocks, and breaks into verse to celebrate his victory.] O thou wolf, eager for death, I have left thee wallowing in dust, and spoiled of life; thou wouldst have the run of my flocks, but I have left thee dyed with blood; thou wouldst disperse my sheep, and thou knowest I am a lion that never fears. This is the way I treat thee, thou dog of the desert. Hast thou ever before seen battle and wars? [His next adventure brought him to the notice of the chief of the tribe, — King Zoheir. A slave of Prince Shas insulted a poor, feeble woman who was tending her sheep; on which Antar "dashed him against the ground. And his length and breadth were all one mass." This deed won for Antar the hatred of Prince Shas, the friendship of the gentle Prince Malik, and the praise of the king, their father. "This valiant fellow," said the king, "has defended the honor of women."] |