Feebly, yet dauntlessly, he came back to the hopeless battle.

The Mistress was in danger.

And he alone could help.
No longer able to avoid the rushes, he met some of them with pathetically useless jaws; going down under others and rising with ever greater slowness and difficulty.

The sow's ravening teeth found a goal, more than once, in the burnished mahogany coat which the Mistress brushed every day with such loving care.

The pronged hoofs had twice more cut him as he strove to roll aside from their onslaught after one of his heavy tumbles.
The end of the fight seemed very near.