She simply threw herself in front of Brian. It was an
offer of her life for his.
I could do nothing, of course. I was too far off. I'm not a screaming
girl, but I'm afraid I did give a shriek, for Mother Beckett started up,
and cried out: "What's the matter?"
I didn't answer her. I hardly heard. I forgot everyone except Brian and
that girl. It was only when the thing was over, and we were all talking
at once, that I realized how the others had shared my fright.
Perhaps Brian recognized the dog's bark at a distance, for he says a
dog's voice is individual as a man's. Or his instinct--made magically
keen by his blindness--told him in a flash of inspiration what his eyes
couldn't see. Anyhow, he knew that Dierdre was in danger, and almost
flung her behind him. He was just in time to save her from being thrown
down by the dog, who hurled himself like a young avalanche at Brian. To
those who had no clue to the truth, it must have seemed that the animal
was mad. Julian, and Father Beckett, and the khaki man rushed to the
rescue, only to see the dog and Brian in each other's arms, the creature
licking Brian's face, laughing and crying at the same time--which you
know, Padre, a dog frantic with joy at sight of a long-lost master can
do perfectly well! It seems too melodramatic to be true, but it _is_
true: the dog was Sirius.
You'll think now that this is the "astonishing thing" which would--I
said--have made this whole trip worth while.
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