"In troth is it," answered January, in a frost-bitten tone;--"and so it is also better than doing the brach-tricks which bring the leash into exercise." "Humph!" said Gillian, in the tone of one who thought her husband's proposition might bear being disputed; but instantly changing the note to that of tender complaint, "Ah! Raoul," she said, "do you not remember how you once beat me because our late lord--Our Lady assoilzie him!--took my crimson breast-knot for a peony rose?" "Ay, ay," said the huntsman; "I remember our old master would make such mistakes--Our Lady assoilzie him! as you say--The best hound will hunt counter." "And how could you think, dearest Raoul, to let the wife of thy bosom go so long without a new kirtle?" said his helpmate. "Why, thou hast got one from our young lady that might serve a countess," said Raoul, his concord jarred by her touching this chord--"how many kirtles wouldst thou have?" "Only two, kind Raoul; just that folk may not count their children's age by the date of Dame Gillian's last new gown." "Well, well--it is hard that a man cannot be in good-humour once and away without being made to pay for it. But thou shalt have a new kirtle at Michaelmas, when I sell the buck's hides for the season. The very antlers should bring a good penny this year." "Ay, ay," said Gillian; "I ever tell thee, husband, the horns would be worth the hide in a fair market." Raoul turned briskly round as if a wasp had stung him, and there is no guessing what his reply might have been to this seemingly innocent observation, had not a gallant horseman at that instant entered the court, and, dismounting like the others, gave his horse to the charge of a squire, or equerry, whose attire blazed with embroidery. "By Saint Hubert, a proper horseman, and a _destrier_ for an earl," said Raoul; "and my Lord Constable's liveries withal--yet I know not the gallant." "But I do," said Gillian; "it is Randal de Lacy, the Constable's kinsman, and as good a man as ever came of the name!" "Oh! by Saint Hubert, I have heard of him--men say he is a reveller, and a jangler, and a waster of his goods." "Men lie now and then," said Gillian dryly. "And women also," replied Raoul;--"why, methinks he winked on thee just now." "That right eye of thine saw never true since our good lord-Saint Mary rest him!--flung a cup of wine in thy face, for pressing over boldly into his withdrawing-room." "I marvel," said Raoul, as if he heard her not, "that yonder ruffler comes hither. I have heard that he is suspected to have attempted the Constable's life, and that they have not spoken together for five years." "He comes on my young lady's invitation, and that I know full well," said Dame Gillian; "and he is less like to do the Constable wrong than to have wrong at his hand, poor gentleman, as indeed he has had enough of that already." "And who told thee so?" said Raoul, bitterly.