"They dare not rend the holy book!" So for the third time Rosamund advanced, bearing the missal.
"Knights," she said, "you have torn my kerchief and drunk my wine.
Now I offer this hallowed writing--to him who can read it best." "Give it to Godwin," said Wulf.

"I am a swordsman, not a clerk." "Well said! well said!" roared the company.

"The sword for us--not the pen!" But Rosamund turned on them and answered: "He who wields sword is brave, and he who wields pen is wise, but better is he who can handle both sword and pen--like my cousin Godwin, the brave and learned." "Hear her! hear her!" cried the revellers, knocking their horns upon the board, while in the silence that followed a woman's voice said, "Sir Godwin's luck is great, but give me Sir Wulf's strong arms." Then the drinking began again, and Rosamund and the ladies slipped away, as well they might--for the times were rough and coarse.
On the morrow, after most of the guests were gone, many of them with aching heads, Godwin and Wulf sought their uncle, Sir Andrew, in the solar where he sat alone, for they knew Rosamund had walked to the church hard by with two of the serving women to make it ready for the Friday's mass, after the feast of the peasants that had been held in the nave.

Coming to his oaken chair by the open hearth which had a chimney to it--no common thing in those days--they knelt before him.
"What is it now, my nephews ?" asked the old man, smiling.

"Do you wish that I should knight you afresh ?" "No, sir," answered Godwin; "we seek a greater boon." "Then you seek in vain, for there is none." "Another sort of boon," broke in Wulf.
Sir Andrew pulled his beard, and looked at them.