He had been about me; I grieved for him as for the cat on my hearth.

Well, now in death he warned me; it was some recompense; I lifted my hat as I stole by him and slunk round to the side of the house.

There was a window there, or rather a window-frame, for glass there was none; it stood some six feet from the ground and I crouched beneath it, for I now heard voices in the cottage.
"I wish the rascal hadn't fought," said one voice.

"But he flew at me like a tiger, and I had much ado to stop him.

I was compelled to run him through." "Yet he might have served me alive," said another.
"Your Grace is right.