Into her paralyzed hand a reassuring cold muzzle was thrust.

And, over her, came a sense of wonderful safety from all harm.
Facing her father with a high-pitched loud laugh of genuine courage, she shrilled: "You don't dare touch me! You don't dare lay one finger on me!" And she meant it.

Her look and every inflection of the defiant high voice proved she meant it; proved it to the dumfounded Ruloff, in a way that sent funny little shivers down his spine.
The man came to a shambling halt; aghast at the transfigured little wisp of humanity who confronted him in such gay fearlessness.
"Why don't I dare ?" he blustered, lifting the brass-buckled weapon again.
"You don't dare to!" she laughed, wildly.

"You don't dare, because you know he'll kill you, This time he won't just knock you down.

He'll KILL you! He'll never let you hit me again.