aid no heed to the
serving-man, let him lay on never so soundly, but turned himself round
under the blows, and cried out in a loud voice to her: 'Oh, thou
Jezebel, thou proud Jezebel, canst thou not permit and suffer the
servant of the Lord to pass by thee quietly?'

Now at that word 'Jezebel,' Mistress Preston's anger was yet more
mightily inflamed against Miles, for she knew that he had discovered
the reason why her cheeks had remained pink, and flushed not thistle
purple like the rest of her countenance. Even the serving-man smiled
to himself, a mocking smile, and hummed in a low voice, as he
continued to lay the blows thickly on Miles, a ditty having this
refrain--

'Jezebel, the proud Queen,
Painted her face,'

He did not suppose that his mistress would recognise the tune; but
recognise it she did, and it increased her anger yet more, if that
were possible. She flung out both hands in a fury, as if she would
herself have struck at Miles, then, thinking him not fit for her
touch, she changed her mind, and spat full in his face. Oh, what a
savage Thistle was that woman, and worse far than any Thistle in her
behaviour! Loudly, too, she exclaimed, 'I scorn to fall down at thy
words!' Her meaning in saying this is not fully clear, but it may be,
as Miles had called her Jezebel, she meant that no one should ever
cast her down from her high estate, as Jezebel was cast down from the
window in the Palace, whence she mocked at Jehu. This made Miles
testify yet once more--'Thou proud Jezebel,' said he, 'thou that
hardenest thine heart and brazenest thy face against the Lord and His
servant, the Lord will plead with thee in His own time and set in
order before thee the things thou hast this day done to His servant.'

By this time the lady's lackey had at length stopped his beating, not
out of mercy to Miles, but simply because his arm was weary. Yet he
still kept humming under his breath another verse of the same ditty,
ending--

'Jezebel, the proud Queen,
'Tired her hair!'

Miles, therefore, being loosed from his hands, parted from both
mistress and man, and left them standing without more words and
himself passed on, bruised and buffeted, to continue his journey in
sore discomfort of body until he came to Swarthmoor.

Arrived at that gracious home, his friends comforted him and bound up
his aching limbs, as indeed they were well accustomed to do in those
days, when the guests who arrived at