“He 's never gone to the Fair,” said the beggar craftily. “Trust him, he 'll show his face here no more. He 'll take horn to Lancashire or York. He 'll be afeared to sell it in Chester with the maid so nigh.”
Calote was looking from one to another, distressful. When she spoke, her voice was very low.
“I 'll go after him,” she said. “I 'll follow, and find him, or the horn. Oh, cruel, cruel! Good-day, sweet friends; my heart is heavy within me.”
Some of them, the women and the other villeins, and the murderer, went with her to put her on the high road, making loud lament; but Symme and Haukyn and the soldier looked on one another with a wink and a nod, and turned their faces to Chester.
“Best let her go,” said Nicholas. “'T will save the peddler a lie and me the wooing o' two maids side by side.”
“A pretty maid,” murmured Symme. “'T made mine eyes water to see her sorrow.”
The beggar said nothing till he saw the peddler coming up the road; then he laughed and grumbled out:—
“So, he 's honest,—more fool!”
The peddler came on smiling, and they caught him about the neck and looked covetous in his eyes, and thrust their fingers in his breast and his girdle, with:—
“Hast sold it?”