"Yes; she was nimbly up with that little axe she has at her waist.
It was well for old Tyr that his master throttled him off."

Christian went without a word to the corner where Tyr was chained.
The dog rose up to meet him, as piteous and indignant as a dumb
beast can be. He stroked the black head. "Good Tyr! brave dog!"

They knew, they only; and the man and the dumb dog had comfort of
each other.

Christian's eyes turned again towards White Fell: Tyr's also, and
he strained against the length of the chain. Christian's hand lay
on the dog's neck, and he felt it ridge and bristle with the
quivering of impotent fury. Then he began to quiver in like
manner, with a fury born of reason, not instinct; as impotent
morally as was Tyr physically. Oh! the woman's form that he dare
not touch! Anything but that, and he with Tyr would be free to
kill or be killed.

Then he returned to ask fresh questions.

"How long has the stranger been here?"

"She came about half-an-hour before you."

"Who opened the door to her?"

"Sweyn: no one else dared."