And there was a something in the tone of Alftruda's last
letter which seemed to tell her that the weasel was still upon the scent
of its game. But she was too proud to mistrust Hereward, or rather, to
seem to mistrust him. And yet--how dangerous Alftruda might be as a rival,
if rival she choose to be. She was up in the world now, free, rich, gay,
beautiful, a favorite at Queen Matilda's court, while she--
"How came this letter into thy hands?" asked she as carelessly as she
could.
"I was in Peterborough last night," said Martin, "concerning little
matters of my own, and there came to me in the street a bonny young page
with smart jacket on his back, smart cap on his head, and smiles and bows,
and 'You are one of Hereward's men,' quoth he."
"'Say that again, young jackanapes,' said I, 'and I'll cut your tongue
out,' whereat he took fright and all but cried. He was very sorry, and
meant no harm, but he had a letter for my master, and he heard I was one
of his men.
"Who told him that?"
"Well, one of the monks, he could not justly say which, or wouldn't, and
I, thinking the letter of more importance than my own neck, ask him
quietly into my friend's house. There he pulls out this and five silver
pennies, and I shall have five more if I bring an answer back: but to none
than Hereward must I give it.
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