"But the exertion may set your wounds bleeding afresh, Osgod," Wulf said, unable to repress a smile at Osgod's argument.

"Methinks there is no fear of that. The most nights I have slept at monasteries, and have inquired from the monks, whom I told that I must needs stand by your side to-day, whether I should be fit. They said at first that there would be some risk in the matter, but that if I continued to take rest and quiet as I was doing, and the wound continued to heal favourably, it was possible, if I abstained from actual fighting, I might do so; but of late they have spoken more confidently. I told the monk who seared my arm to do it heartily, for a little pain more or less was of small account, so that he made a good job of it. And so, what with the rest and quiet and my mind being at ease, it went on so well that a monk who examined it at Westminster on Wednesday evening told me that save for the healing of the skin the wound was pretty nigh cured, and that he thought there was no chance whatever of its breaking out afresh. He bandaged it tightly to prevent any rush of blood into the veins, and though when I drove an axe just now into that stump yonder, I felt that I had not got back my strength fully, I expect when I warm to the work I shall strike as strongly as most."