The Dwarf eyed,
for a few moments, the convulsive starts of his dying favourite, until
the poor goat stretched out her limbs with the twitches and shivering
fit of the last agony. He then started into an access of frenzy, and
unsheathing a long sharp knife, or dagger, which he wore under his
coat, he was about to launch it at the dog, when Hobbie, perceiving his
purpose, interposed, and caught hold of his hand, exclaiming, "Let a be
the hound, man--let a be the hound!--Na, na, Killbuck maunna be guided
that gate, neither."
The Dwarf turned his rage on the young farmer; and, by a sudden effort,
far more powerful than Hobbie expected from such a person, freed his
wrist from his grasp, and offered the dagger at his heart. All this was
done in the twinkling of an eye, and the incensed Recluse might have
completed his vengeance by plunging the weapon in Elliot's bosom, had he
not been checked by an internal impulse which made him hurl the knife to
a distance.
"No," he exclaimed, as he thus voluntarily deprived himself of the means
of gratifying his rage; "not again--not again!"
Hobbie retreated a step or two in great surprise, discomposure, and
disdain, at having been placed in such danger by an object apparently so
contemptible.
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