PART II—THE RESURRECTION (continued 2)

“What are you doing?” said Vernon sharply.

“Good-night, Vernon,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm; “I am going to take the spaniel with me.”

As I spoke I moved towards the door. The spaniel slunk along beside me, with its belly close to the floor, trying to press itself against my legs.

“I WENT OUT INTO THE NIGHT CARRYING IT IN MY ARMS.”

“What!” said Vernon, “to happiness—to affection!”

I was close to the door. I had my fingers upon the handle.

“That!” he cried with violence. “No! Rather than that, let it end now and here!”

He made a rapid movement; the spaniel howled and cowered against the door. I heard the crack of a pistol-shot. I felt the chain leap in my hand as the spaniel sprang upwards and fell on the floor.

I bent down, touched him, turned him over.

He was dead.

Then I faced Vernon.

“Murderer!” I said. “Murderer!”

“But—he was only a black spaniel!” Vernon said, laying the revolver down on the table.

“Murderer!” I repeated.

Then I lifted up the corpse of the spaniel, and went out into the night carrying it in my arms.