Heavens!  What a spectacle to rivet one with horror to the spot.  Fortunately there are some people of action present.

Aunt Gwen clutches her infant by the shoulder, and drags him along in the direction of the nearest house.

“Run, Philander, or you’re a goner!  It’s worse than snake poison, the bite of a mad dog is.  Haven’t I seen a bitten man so furious that it required six to hold him down?  Faster, professor! on your life!”

With that iron grip on his shoulder poor Philander’s feet barely touch the ground as he is whirled through space, and the dog, mad or not, that overtakes Aunt Gwen and her infant must be a rapid traveler, indeed.  Thus they reach a house, and in another minute reappear upon a balcony, to witness a scene they will never forget.

Lady Ruth, though naturally quivering with excitement, has plenty of cavaliers to hurry her to a place of safety.  Besides, after that one first shock, she shows more grit than might have been expected of her.

She allows herself to be hurried along.  A strong hand grasps each arm; and if every one in the path of the mad brute were as well attended, there would be little cause for anxiety or alarm.

Now they have reached a house, and safety is assured, for the hospitable door stands open to welcome them.

Already a number have preceded them, for they seem to be the last in the vicinity.

Just as they arrive, the colonel, who appears intensely excited, is saying, hoarsely: 

“Enter quickly, I beg, Lady Ruth.”

She turns her head in curiosity for one last look, impelled by an unknown power—­turns, and is at once petrified by what she sees.

They notice the look of horror on her lovely face, and instinctively guessing, also cast a glance in the direction where last the savage brute was seen.

He has continued to advance in the interim, and is now quite close, though not moving out of the straight line in the center of the street—­a repulsive looking object truly, and enough to horrify the bravest.

Colonel Lionel gives a gasp.  He is trembling all over, for it chances that this brave soldier, who has led forlorn hopes in the Zulu war, and performed prodigies of valor on Egyptian battle-fields, has a peculiar dread of dogs, inherited from one of his parents.

It is not the animal that has fixed Lady Ruth’s attention.  Just in front and directly in the line of the dog’s advance is a small native child that has been playing in the street.

He cannot be over three years of age, and with his curly black head and half-naked body presents a picture of robust health.

Apparently engrossed in his play, he sees and hears nothing of the clamor around until, chancing to look up, he sees the dog, and fearlessly extends his chubby arms toward it.

The picture is one never to be forgotten.

It thrills every one who looks on.