I know it.

He's HERE! You don't dare touch me! You won't ever dare touch me! He--" She choked, in her shout of weird exultation.

The man, ridden by his racial superstition, stared open-mouthed at the tiny demon who screeched defiance at him.
And, there, in the dim shadows of the barn, his overwrought fancy seemed to make out a grim formless Thing, close at the child's side; crouching in silent menace.
The heat of the day--the shock of seeing Lad appear from nowhere and stand thus, by the veranda, a few minutes earlier--these and the once-timid Sonya's confident belief in Lad's presence,--all wrought on the stupid, easily-thrilled mind of the Slav.
"The werewolf!" he babbled; throwing down the belt, and bolting out into the friendly sunlight.
"The werewolf! I--I saw it! I--at least--God of Russia, what DID I see?
What did SHE see ?" Over a magnificent lifeless body on the veranda bent the two who had loved Lad best and whom he had served so worshipfully for sixteen years.

The Mistress's face was wet with tears she did not try to check.
In the Master's throat was a lump that made speech painful.

For the tenth time he leaned down and laid his fingers above the still heart of the dog; seeking vainly for sign of fluttering.
"No use!" he said, thickly, harking back by instinct to a half-remembered phrase.