"Ever yours,
"VALENTINE."
"And yet," Julian thought, "I should have guessed by your writing that
you were in some unusual frame of mind, either tired, or--or--" he looked
again, and closely, at the writing,--"or in a temper less delightfully
calm and seraphic than usual. Yes, it looks actually a bad-tempered hand.
Valentine's!" Then he laughed, and tossed the note carelessly into the
fire that was crackling upon the hearth. Rip lay by it, quietly
sleeping.
Punctually at five o'clock Valentine appeared. Rip was still lying
happily before the fire, but directly the dog caught sight of its master
all the hair along the middle of its back bristled on end, and it showed
every symptom of acute distress and fury. Julian was obliged to put it
out of the room.
"What can have come over Rip, Valentine?" he said, as he came back. "This
sudden hatred of you is inexplicable."
"Absolutely," Valentine answered. "But it is sure to pass away. There was
something uncanny about that trance of mine which frightened the little
beggar."
"Perhaps. But the oddest thing is, that while you were insensible Rip lay
with his head upon your arm as contented as possible. It was only just as
you began to show signs of life that he seemed to turn against you.
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