With insult or derision
Treat thou never
A guest or wayfarer;
They often little know,
Who sit within,
Of what race they are who come.
Ha'vama'l

Alwin was sitting on the ground in front of the provision-shed, grinding
meal on a small stone hand-mill, when Editha came to seek him.

"If it please you, my lord--"

He broke into a bitter laugh. "By Saint George, that fits me well! 'If
it please you,' and 'my lord,' to a short-haired, callous-handed hound
of a slave!"

Tears filled her eyes, but her gentle mouth was as obstinate as gentle
mouths can often be. "Have they drawn Earl Edmund's blood out of you?
Until they have done that, you will be my lord. Your lady mother in
heaven would curse me for a traitor if I denied your nobility."

Alwin ground out a resigned sigh with his last handful of meal. "Go on
then, if you must. We spoke enough of the matter last night. Only see to
it that no one hears you. I warn you that I shall kill the first who
laughs,--and who could help laughing?"

She was too wise to answer that. Instead, she motioned over her shoulder
toward the group of late-risen revellers who were lounging under the