Sir John Dering by Jeffery Farnol

Dering of Dering being home again and his fame on every lip, it befell, to Sir John's dismay, that the ‘Market Cross Inn' was generally a-throng with visitors: sporting farmers who trotted up on their "bits o' blood," country gentry, bucks of the quality, and not a few ladies of fashion, all hither come to pay homage in their several ways to "the Wicked Dering."

To avoid whom, Sir John promptly shut himself above stairs attended by the Corporal, admitting none but Mr. Bunkle, adventuring abroad only after dark. His injured arm still irked him, but this he accounted nothing compared with the hurt he had suffered at my lady's hands.