"Let the beaten dog yelp."
We bade the tavern-keeper, who met us at his door, provide food and drink, for some of us had not eaten since early morning; and I went in search of water to cleanse myself from blood and dust, not wishing Mistress Goel to see me in my filthy plight. In truth, I shrank from meeting her, for now that my fury and strength were spent, I was ashamed of my blustering rage. But it so chanced as I went to the pump that Mistress Goel overtook me, going to the barn with a basket. At the sound of her light, gliding step, I turned, and she paled at sight of me.
"You are sorely wounded, I fear," she said. "Come to my father, who is in the barn."
"I have nothing worse than a few bruises and scratches," I answered. "For that I have to thank you; your quick wit and kindness have saved several lives to-day."
"I did no more than keep my own people from meddling in strife, which did not concern them; but how you know of it passes my comprehension."
I explained, and then asked what her father did in the barn.
"He is busy repairing heads you have damaged," she replied.
"Two at least are beyond repair, even by his skill," said I.
"Not so," she laughed. "Either your arm is not so terribly strong as it seemed, or Lincolnshire skulls are thicker than ordinary, for my father has good hope of both the men you struck down."
"Thank God!" I said devoutly. "My brutish rage has not killed the rascals."