It remained shrinking up against the door in a posture that
denoted abject fear, its pretty head turned in the direction of
Valentine, its eyes glaring, its teeth snapping at the air. The doctor
looked at it and at Valentine. His pity for the dog's condition was held
in check by a strange fascination of curiosity. He leaned his arms on the
table and his eyes were fixed on Valentine, who got up slowly from his
chair.
"I have let Rip be the prey of his absurd fancies long enough, doctor,"
he said. "To-night I will make him like me as he used to, or at least
come to me."
And he whistled to the dog and called Rip, standing by the table. Rip
howled and trembled in reply, and snapped more fiercely in the direction
of Valentine.
"Do you see that, doctor? But he shall come. I will make him."
He shut his lips firmly and stared upon the animal. It was very evident
that he was exerting himself strongly in some way. Indeed, he looked
like a man performing some tremendous physical feat. Yet all his limbs
were still. The violence of his mind created the illusion. Rip wavered
against the door. There was foam on his jaws and his white legs trembled.
Valentine snapped his fingers as one summoning or coaxing a dog.
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