A dog--old Carlo, Mr. Rivers' pointer, as I saw in a moment--was pushing the gate with his nose, and St. John himself leant upon it with folded arms; his brow knit, his gaze, grave almost to displeasure, fixed on me.
Un perro, el viejo Carlo, según pude ver, empujaba la cancela con el hocico, y John Rivers la abría en aquel momento. Su entrecejo arrugado, su mirada grave, le daban un aspecto casi hostil.