CHAPTER III.

 SUSPENSE."

FLORA was a species of dog that had a dash of the blood-
 hound in her. She was a great, somewhat gaunt creature,
standing high on the legs, and with a broad sagacious jowl, as
different as possible from Carlo's fine, supercilious, pensive
mouth. Flora, like many of her sex-especially those of them
whose personal qualities are not their great distinction, and
who have not, therefore, been followed and fawned upon by
a crowd of fools-was a dog of strong affections. It was for
her capacity in this respect, together with her admirable
patience and a kind of broad good sense, that she was valued.
 In the picture, Flora is sitting waiting, as she so often sat,
expectation and longing in every bristling hair, but without a
single demonstration of violence or obstreperous appeal. The
door is closed, and it is not for her to batter it, as Flora
knows right well, neither will she disturb her friends and
owners by intruding her wishes on them in barking and
yelping. It is not that she has tried the artillery and found
it fail; it is that she is too reasonable, too long-suffering, too