A page thrust his head in at the door, but quickly drew it forth again. An old woman that had been asleep in a corner got up and hobbled out in haste. The dogs put tail between their legs and slunk under the settle. Calote, in the firelight, waited. Her knees shook, yet she was not afraid.
When he had cleared the hall the knight threw away his whip, came back to the fire, took the remainder of his piment at one gulp, and hurled the goblet to the far end of the hall.
“So, my lady; wilt have me on my knees, for the more honour?” said he; and she let him grunt, and crack his old joints, for that she knew he could not readily get up if he were once kneeling.
“Now, hearken!” he bade her. “Wilt dwell here and tame yon proud damsels, and shame 'em? I 'm sick o' daughters; I 'd have a son to lean on in mine age. Come,—I 'll marry thee honest. Thou shalt be the envy of all York. Thou shalt wear silken gowns. Here 's a happy life,—no sleeping under hedge nor in the open. So thou do my pleasure I 'll never harm thee. The one that 's gone had never a harsh word from me till the third daughter came, and that was past any man's patience t' endure. By Holy Cuthbert, I swear thou art lovelier than any court lady ever I saw,—and I 've been in Edward's court,—yea, and in France likewise. Kiss me, wench!—By Saint Thomas, but I will kiss thee whether or no!”
He stumbled and staggered to his feet and came at her with a lurch, for his head was dizzy with wine and pleasure.
“Sir, I will not marry no knight,—nor lord of a manor,—unless he set free all his villeins,‘ she said, and slipped aside. ’Neither will I kiss any man for love, till we be promised together.”
“Free my villeins, pardé,” he cried. “Do I not take quit-rent of the half of them even now? They be as good as freed.”
“But I will have them altogether freed.”
He sat down in the chimney corner and wiped his brow:—
“Pish! Here 's not a matter to be decided without law and lawyers. I must think on 't. Come hither, my lady; give me good-night.”