“The Countess Judith, lady, lives no longer in St. Omer. Since her husband’s death, she lives with her mother at Bruges.”
The lady made a gesture of disappointment.
“It were best for you, therefore, to accept my hospitality, till such time as I can send you and your ladies on to Bruges.”
“I must first know who it is who offers me hospitality?”
This was said so proudly, that Hereward answered proudly enough in return,—
“I am Hereward Leofricsson, whom his foes call Hereward the outlaw, and his friends Hereward the master of knights.”
She started, and threw her veil hack, looking intently at him. He, for his part, gave but one glance, and then cried,—
“Mother of Heaven! You are the great Countess!”
“Yes, I was that woman once, if all be not a dream. I am now I know not what, seeking hospitality—if I can believe my eyes and ears—of Godiva’s son.”
“And from Godiva’s son you shall have it, as though you were Godiva’s self. God so deal with my mother, madam, as I will deal with you.”