There would be a moon in an hour. She crept around to the stable that stood some way from the house, put a halter on the old gray donkey, and got the beast out with scarcely a sound. He was as stubborn as any ass could be in most people’s hands, but he had a liking for humoring Kate. She led him down the orchard, through the slip gate into the dame’s meadow, and so away over the open country to the bridge at the mill. No one saw her cross the river, though the miller nudged his wife when he heard the donkey’s hoofs on the timber of the bridge.
“Now who would you guess that to be?”
The good wife ran to the window, but saw nothing, since the moon was not up.
“An ass, by the sound.”
“Two of them, more likely. And supposing it were Kate Succory, where would she be going?”
“It is best to mind one’s business, John, when we live at the prior’s mill.”
“Remember it, dame, by all means,” he said, somewhat sullenly, “there is not an honest man among them now that Martin Valliant is away on the moor.”
His wife clapped her hands.
“Maybe that ass travels as far as the moor.”
“Get you to bed. A woman’s tongue stirs up too much mire.”