I know of--but it becomes me best not to talk of that, although my hair
is gray.

Perhaps their den might well have been stormed, and themselves driven
out of the forest, if honest people had only agreed to begin with them
at once when first they took to plundering. But having respect for
their good birth, and pity for their misfortunes, and perhaps a little
admiration at the justice of God, that robbed men now were robbers,
the squires, and farmers, and shepherds, at first did nothing more than
grumble gently, or even make a laugh of it, each in the case of others.
After awhile they found the matter gone too far for laughter, as
violence and deadly outrage stained the hand of robbery, until every
woman clutched her child, and every man turned pale at the very name of
Doone. For the sons and grandsons of Sir Ensor grew up in foul liberty,
and haughtiness, and hatred, to utter scorn of God and man, and
brutality towards dumb animals. There was only one good thing about
them, if indeed it were good, to wit, their faith to one another, and
truth to their wild eyry. But this only made them feared the more, so
certain was the revenge they wreaked upon any who dared to strike a
Doone. One night, some ten years ere I was born, when they were sacking
a rich man's house not very far from Minehead, a shot was fired at them
in the dark, of which they took little notice, and only one of them knew
that any harm was done. But when they were well on the homeward road,
not having slain either man or woman, or even burned a house down, one
of their number fell from his saddle, and died without so much as a
groan. The youth had been struck, but would not complain, and perhaps
took little heed of the wound, while he was bleeding inwardly. His
brothers and cousins laid him softly on a bank of whortle-berries, and
just rode back to the lonely hamlet where he had taken his death-wound.
No man nor woman was left in the morning, nor house for any to dwell in,