“Now, Carver Doone, take warning,” I said to him, very soberly; “you have shown yourself a fool by your contempt of me.  I may not be your match in craft; but I am in manhood.  You are a despicable villain.  Lie low in your native muck.”

And with that word, I laid him flat upon his back in our straw-yard, by a trick of the inner heel, which he could not have resisted (though his strength had been twice as great as mine), unless he were a wrestler.  Seeing him down the others ran, though one of them made a shot at me, and some of them got their horses, before our men came up; and some went away without them.  And among these last was Captain Carver who arose, while I was feeling myself (for I had a little wound), and strode away with a train of curses enough to poison the light of the moon.

We gained six very good horses, by this attempted rapine, as well as two young prisoners, whom I had smitten by the clover-rick.  And two dead Doones were left behind, whom (as we buried them in the churchyard, without any service over them), I for my part was most thankful that I had not killed.  For to have the life of a fellow-man laid upon one’s conscience—­deserved he his death, or deserved it not—­is to my sense of right and wrong the heaviest of all burdens; and the one that wears most deeply inwards, with the dwelling of the mind on this view and on that of it.

I was inclined to pursue the enemy and try to capture more of them; but Jeremy Stickles would not allow it, for he said that all the advantage would be upon their side, if we went hurrying after them, with only the moon to guide us.  And who could tell but what there might be another band of them, ready to fall upon the house, and burn it, and seize the women, if we left them unprotected?  When he put the case thus, I was glad enough to abide by his decision.  And one thing was quite certain, that the Doones had never before received so rude a shock, and so violent a blow to their supremacy, since first they had built up their power, and become the Lords of Exmoor.  I knew that Carver Doone would gnash those mighty teeth of his, and curse the men around him, for the blunder (which was in truth his own) of over-confidence and carelessness.  And at the same time, all the rest would feel that such a thing had never happened, while old Sir Ensor was alive; and that it was caused by nothing short of gross mismanagement.

I scarcely know who made the greatest fuss about my little wound, mother, or Annie, or Lorna.  I was heartily ashamed to be so treated like a milksop; but most unluckily it had been impossible to hide it.  For the ball had cut along my temple, just above the eyebrow; and being fired so near at hand, the powder too had scarred me.  Therefore it seemed a great deal worse than it really was; and the sponging, and the plastering, and the sobbing, and the moaning, made me quite ashamed to look Master Stickles in the face.