No one of the felons was nimble enough to escape from the fleet-foot
hunters of Burgdale, and they were all slain there to the number of
eleven.
But when they came back to the woman to tend her, she breathed her
last in their hands: she was a young and fair woman, black-haired
and dark-eyed. She had on her body a gown of rich web, but nought
else: she had been bruised and sore mishandled, and the Burgdale
carles wept for pity of her, and for wrath, as they straightened her
limbs on the turf of the little valley. They let her lie there a
little, whilst they searched round about, lest there should be any
other poor soul needing their help, or any felon lurking thereby; but
they found nought else save a bundle wherein was another rich gown
and divers woman's gear, and sundry rings and jewels, and therewithal
the weapons and war-gear of a knight, delicately wrought after the
Westland fashion: these seemed to them to betoken other foul deeds
of these murder-carles. So when they had abided a while, they laid
the dead woman in mould by the brook-side, and buried with her the
other woman's attire and the knight's gear, all but his sword and
shield, which they had away with them: then they cast the carcasses
of the felons into the brake, but brought away their weapons and the
silver rings from their arms, which they wore like all the others of
them whom they had fallen in with; and so went on their way to the
north-east, full of wrath against those dastards of the Earth.
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