Dame Isabel Icingla’s position, of course, was very different in many respects from that of the wife or widow of a Norman baron, and her household much more limited. Moreover, she could not seclude herself as they could do--in fact, as her husband had been known among the Saxons as Hlaford, which signified the bread-giver, so she as his wife was known as Hleafdian, which signified the server of bread; and she was fain to avoid the charge of being denounced as “niddering” by conforming to the system of lavish hospitality and free intercourse with humble neighbours which the Icinglas, as Saxon thanes, had ever practised--their door having always stood open, from morning to evening, to all comers, and their cheer, such as it was, having been dispensed with open hand. All this, of course, was very homely and primitive, and perhaps Dame Isabel did not relish it. But while enacting her part as a Hleafdian, she never for a moment forgot that she was a Moreville, and never really descended from what she deemed the dignity of a noble lady. Born a Norman, and heiress to vast possessions, her pride was naturally high; and though she was perhaps unconscious of the fact, her original pride as Moreville and Norman had been much increased by her marriage with an Icingla, and all that she heard of their vague and indefinite pretensions; for, having little of their old grandeur left, save their pride, the Icinglas made the most of it in season, or out of season, and regarded their own strength in battle and wisdom in council as nothing compared with the lustre which they borrowed from ancestors who had held princely rank, and headed great armies in England, before the Danish kings turned England upside down. For various reasons, therefore, Dame Isabel Icingla entertained a very high opinion of her own importance; and even in going through the duties of hospitality which devolved upon her as Hleafdian, she was grave and stately almost to affectation. In the evening, however, she was in the habit of unbending so far as either to converse with her three maidens on domestic affairs, or--being a woman of notable piety--to read to them some passage from the lives of the saints, albeit she may have been aware that these damsels would have much preferred a little lighter literature. But however that might have been, Dame Isabel, dressed in her russet gown, and wearing the wimple which concealed her grey hairs and gave a conventual appearance to her face, was seated in her chair of state, and thus occupied, with her three maidens around her, when a strange murmur ran through the house, and a spaniel which lay at her feet started up and uttered a low growl, and then barked, and, as the dog barked, Wolf, the son of Styr, rushed in with terror on his countenance. “Oh, noble lady,” cried he, so agitated that he could scarcely articulate, “fly! They are coming; they are here!”