"If ye be content, madame, I am honoured," said Richard. "It was no matter. The maltman's dunderhead son passed it about the ale-house that night. They gave it up when I did call for it." (This was not true. When Richard had seized the trinket from the thief, the ale-house company had fallen on him to a man, and had rolled ten-deep upon him about the floor, until their sense of fair-play had obliged them to draw off.) Alftrude was smiling her slow, comfortable smile. Could she--the gleam in her eyes seemed one of admiration--could she have heard what had really befallen? "I was like to weep when I saw it again," said she. They had reached the steepest slope of the hill. Richard the Scrob dismounted. "I will carry the basket," said he. "And I will lead your horse heredown. Let yon lad take mine. Whither make ye?" he continued, when the boy had fallen behind with his new charge. "Madame, I think ye should not fare abroad by such a slippery road and in such fickle weather." "I must to Ludford," she answered. "What think ye of this? There are seven young children at home, and in the house no spices nor dried grapes to make them Yuletide broth or Yuletide cake, and the housewife will not send any for these! Yet our bairns must have their Christmas fare like other bairns! so I am for Hildred the ale-wife, who has such sweet stuffs to sell." But even as she enlarged upon her purpose, her cheeks blushed red. "It is shameful!" said he, and his tone was full of warmth. "I like not their dealings with you, these kinsmen of your former lord!" "Good friend," said Alftrude, "how wilt thou do now? Thy cattle--thy money--the best of all thy gear! Great thy loss that evil market-day! Indeed I am abashed by the folk with whom I dwell!" "Why, I must stint and save, that is all. It will be no new thing--so have I done all the days of my life. When I first came over to join the train of Ralf the Earl, I had nothing but two silver pieces, my pen and inkhorn, and my wits. That was fifteen years ago.... They have been lonely years in England since Idonea died." "She was your wife?" "Idonea was my wife. She was of Bayeux--daughter of Robert the deacon. I had her but two years in this misty island. A short sickness bore her off." "Alack, alack! that is piteous!" "She fretted ever for Normandy. I think it was as well she died." Alftrude eyed him gravely, reflectively. Suddenly she shook with silent laughter.