Beside her in the snow crouched the house-dog, Rover, trembling with fear, and mingling his howling cry of terror with her more awful one of murder. The dog had been a witness of the fray, keeping close by his mistress' side, and occasionally uttering a low growl of disapproval as the blows fell thick and fast, and when at last it was over, and the dead man lay white and still, with his blood upon the floor, Rover sprang toward his master with a loud, angry bark and then fled with Hannah into the storm, where he mingled his cry with hers and added to the horror of the scene.
"Half-crazed with what he had done, and terrified lest be should be detected, Peter Jerrold's first idea was of self-preservation from the law, and the cries he had heard outside filled him with rage and fear. Staggering to his daughter's side he struck the dog a savage blow, then taking Hannah roughly by the arm and leading her into the house, he said to her, fiercely: "Are you crazy, girl, that you yell out your father's guilt to the world? You and that brute of a dog, whom I will kill and so have him out of the way! Here, you Rover, come here!" he said to the dog, who was standing before Hannah, bristling with anger and growling at intervals, "Come here while I finish you," and he opened the door of the wood-shed where he always kept the gun he had carried in the war of 1812.
Divining his intention Hannah stepped between him and Rover, on whose head she laid her hand protectingly, while she said: "Father, you will not touch the dog, if you value your own safety, for if you do, every man in Allington shall know what you have done, before to-morrow dawns. Isn't it enough that you have killed him!" and she pointed shudderingly to the inanimate form upon the floor.
For a moment Peter Jerrold regarded her with the face of a maniac; then his expression changed, and with a burst of tears and sobs he fell upon his knees at her feet, and clasping the hem of her dress abjectly in his hands, besought her to pity him, to have mercy, and save him from the gallows, for in the first frenzy of fear he felt it would be his life they would require if once his guilt were known.
"I cannot die a felon's death. You do not want your poor father hung! Think of yourself; think of Burton; both so young, to carry such a disgrace all your lives. I did not mean to kill him; God knows I didn't. He provoked me so, he hit me first, and I struck harder than I thought, and he is dead. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? I cannot be hung; you will not betray me. Promise me you will not!"