But as for her, in her depth of love-grief, it struck scorn upon her womanhood; and in the flash she spoke.
'What you mean I know not.

Traitors! cut-throats! cowards! I am here to ask for my husband.' She could not say any more, because her heart was now too much for her, coming hard in her throat and mouth; but she opened up her eyes at him.
'Madam,' said Sir Ensor Doone--being born a gentleman, although a very bad one--'I crave pardon of you.

My eyes are old, or I might have known.
Now, if we have your husband prisoner, he shall go free without ransoms, because I have insulted you.' 'Sir,' said my mother, being suddenly taken away with sorrow, because of his gracious manner, 'please to let me cry a bit.' He stood away, and seemed to know that women want no help for that.

And by the way she cried he knew that they had killed her husband.

Then, having felt of grief himself, he was not angry with her, but left her to begin again.
'Loth would I be,' said mother, sobbing with her new red handkerchief, and looking at the pattern of it, 'loth indeed, Sir Ensor Doone, to accuse any one unfairly.