at it was not a piece of gold; to lose a piece
of gold, that were ruin indeed."

Sholto picked up the lantern which had slipped from his trembling
hand. The tallow was beginning to gutter out as it lay on its side,
and a moment's search showed him the gold glittering on some farmyard
rubbish. With a little shrill cry like a frightened bird the old man
fell upon it, as it had been with claws.

"Bite upon it and see if the gold be good," said Sholto, smiling.

"Alas," cried the cripple, "I have but one tooth. But I know the coin.
It is of the right mintage and greasiness. O lovely gold! Beautiful
gentlemen, bide where you are and I will be back with you in a
moment."

And the old man limped away with astonishing quickness to hide his
acquisition, lest, mayhap, his guests should repent them and retract
their liberality.

CHAPTER XLVII

CAESAR MARTIN'S WIFE

Presently he returned and conducted them to a decent stable, where
they saw their beasts bestowed and well provided with bedding and
forage for the night. Then the old cripple, more than ever bent upon
his stick, but nevertheless chuckling to himself all the way, preceded
them into the house.

"Ah, she is clever," he muttered; "she thinks her demon tells her
everything. But even La Meffraye will not know where I have hidden
that beautiful gold."

So he sniggered senilely to himself between his fits of coughing.

It was a low, wide room of strange aspect into which the old man
conducted his guests. The floor was of hard-beaten earth, but cleanly
kept and firm to the feet. The fireplace, with a hearth round it of
built stone, was placed in the midst, and from the rafters depended
many chains and hooks. A wooden settle ran half round the hearthstone
on the side farthest from the draught of the door. The weary three sat
down and stretched their limbs. The fire had burnt low, and Sholto,
reaching to a faggot heap by the side wall, began to toss on boughs of
green birch in handfuls, till the lovely white flame arose and the sap
spat and hissed in explosive puffs.

_"Birk when 'tis green
Makes a fire for a king!"_

Malise hummed the old Scots lines, and the cripple coming in at that
moment raised a shrill bark of protest.

"My good wood, my fuel that cost me so many sore backs--be careful,
young sir. Faggots of birch are dear in this country of Machecoul. My
lord is of those who give nothing for naught."

"Oh, we shall surely pay for what