Sir Kenneth would have approached, but she waved him back.
"Stand off! thou whose soul Heaven hath suited to its new station! Aught less dull and fearful than a slavish mute had spoken a word of gratitude, were it but to reconcile me to my own degradation.

Why pause you ?--begone!" The disguised knight almost involuntarily looked towards the letter as an apology for protracting his stay.

She snatched it up, saying in a tone of irony and contempt, "I had forgotten--the dutiful slave waits an answer to his message.

How's this--from the Soldan!" She hastily ran over the contents, which were expressed both in Arabic and French, and when she had done, she laughed in bitter anger.
"Now this passes imagination!" she said; "no jongleur can show so deft a transmutation! His legerdemain can transform zechins and byzants into doits and maravedis; but can his art convert a Christian knight, ever esteemed among the bravest of the Holy Crusade, into the dust-kissing slave of a heathen Soldan--the bearer of a paynim's insolent proposals to a Christian maiden--nay, forgetting the laws of honourable chivalry, as well as of religion?
But it avails not talking to the willing slave of a heathen hound.

Tell your master, when his scourge shall have found thee a tongue, that which thou hast seen me do"-- so saying, she threw the Soldan's letter on the ground, and placed her foot upon it--"and say to him, that Edith Plantagenet scorns the homage of an unchristened pagan." With these words she was about to shoot from the knight, when, kneeling at her feet in bitter agony, he ventured to lay his hand upon her robe and oppose her departure.
"Heard'st thou not what I said, dull slave ?" she said, turning short round on him, and speaking with emphasis.