"Werewolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Housman Clarence)

'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.'

The tone of the answer was mysterious.

'Why?' queried Christian. 'Has anything strange happened? Tell
me.'

For answer he was told in a low undertone of the summons at the
door thrice repeated without human agency; and of Tyr's ominous
howls; and of Sweyn's fruitless watch outside.

Christian turned towards his brother in a torment of impatience for
a word apart. The board was spread, and Sweyn was leading White
Fell to the guest's place. This was more awful: she would break
bread with them under the roof-tree!

He started forward, and touching Sweyn's arm, whispered an
urgent entreaty. Sweyn stared, and shook his head in angry
impatience.

Thereupon Christian would take no morsel of food.