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Hence, to this day, among ignorant people, the howling of a dog under the window is supposed to portend a death in the family. It is the fleet greyhound of Hermes, come to escort the soul to the river Styx. But the wind-god is not always so terrible.

Our weapons do not shine, our steeds are dispirited, and our fires, though fed with fuel, do not blare up. All this is ominous. All our animals are setting up a frightful howl, gazing towards the sun. The crows are perching on our banners. All this is ominous. Yon vultures and kites on our right portend a great danger. That jackal also, running through our ranks, waileth dismally.

Miss Symes bent and kissed the girl's eager face. "I will sing for you with pleasure, dear, if I have a moment of time to spare. But now I have come to fetch Fanny. I want to have a little talk with her all by herself. Fan, will you come with me?" Fanny Crawford raised her pretty, dark eyebrows in some surprise. What could this portend?

"There is a man upstairs whom we may perhaps make hear, but what does this contrivance portend? It has a serious look to me, when you consider that every window in these two rooms has been built up almost under the roof." "Yes; a very strange look. But before engaging in its consideration I should like a breath of fresh air. I cannot do anything while in confinement. My brain won't work."

It was a manifest sign that a virginal vow had been broken, and that some of the keepers of the eternal fire were tainted with the sin of unchastity. The destruction of the horse seemed to portend that a knight would be found to be a partner in the crime. Evidence was invited and was soon forthcoming.

Something was wrong, he concluded. He would never have argued on similar lines a short time ago. This downright sympathy with sinners, what did it portend? Did it betray a lapse from his old-established principles, a waning of his respect for traditional morality? Was he becoming a sinner himself? Thomas the doubting apostle. He wondered whether there was anything in a name.

The weather begins to portend a norther, so I have directed the engineer to hold on with his steam for the present. Monday, January 5th. It did not blow last night as I expected. This morning the wind has gone round again. I cannot wait longer for the norther, so I must get under way. At 11 A.M. got under way, and stood out from the anchorage under steam.

Instinctively as Rosamund left Father Robertson's little room she had tried to hide her face. She had received a blow, and the pain of it frightened her. She was startled by her own suffering. What did it mean? What did it portend? She had no right to feel as she did. Long ago she had abandoned the right to such a feeling. The information Lady Ingleton had brought outraged Rosamund.

One day Manabozho addressed him as follows: "My grandson, I had a dream last night, and it does not portend good. It is of the large lake which lies in that direction. You must be careful to always go across it, whether the ice seem strong or not. Never go around it, for there are enemies on the further shore who lie in wait for you. The ice is always safe."

So the long hours of the dreadful night dragged on. At length came daydawn. The storm had rolled away. A lull in the besieging guns gave the Legation a little rest of mind. Hungry and helpless, it waited the passing of another day. A silence seemed to fill the city and the wiser ones wondered anxiously what it might portend. Suddenly, in the midst of it, a great gun boomed out to the northeast.