"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." "Oh! but it was not brutish," cried Mistress Goel, with sparkling eyes; "you sought to avert violence. And that you were roused to great and dreadful wrath by seeing your friend shamefully and traitorously shot down is not brutish. Oh no, another word must be used for that." How little I knew of woman's ways! I had feared that I had lowered myself in the lady's esteem for ever, and here she stood, looking up at me with dewy eyes, and speaking as if I had done some noble deed. It would have pleased me well, if our talk might have been continued, but Mistress Goel had to hasten to her father's help, and I returned to my comrades, after having removed the stains of battle, so far as washing might do it. We were not merry over our eating and drinking, for in a room near lay the body of our friend. It was agreed that four of us should accompany the men who bore the remains to Staniforth Hall, and that the other four should ride with the Dutch to Newflete, where they had left their barge. It fell to my lot to be one of the latter company, but small good came of it to me. Doctor Goel walked on one side of the horse which his daughter rode, and the big Dutchman on the other, so I had little converse with her. At parting, her hand lay in mine for a second, and I took some comfort from the kindness in her eyes as she said good night. When I came to Durkness Crooke, intending to cross the river there, no boat was to be found, and I must needs ride on the river bank to the Crowle Ferry. I went slowly, for my nag was a sorry steed, hired at the Crown, Portington's horse having scampered off to his own stable during the tumult. By the time I passed Beggar's Tree, the evening had grown dusk, and I was startled by a moan from some one half hidden under a champ of birch. It was Bess Boswell, who had sprained her ankle, and begged me to send some of her tribe, whose encampment lay on my road to Temple Belwood, to convey her home. I dismounted, and helped her to my saddle, which she sat man-fashion. For some time we went on in silence, which the gipsy girl broke by saying-- "My warning came true on your birthday." "Save your fortune-telling mystery for the bumpkins at the next fair, Bess." "Anyhow, I knew what you did not--the mortgages and the contract between the squire and Ryther." "True."