"Thirty zecchins of my own property," answered Gurth, doggedly.

"A forfeit---a forfeit," shouted the robbers; "a Saxon hath
thirty zecchins, and returns sober from a village! An undeniable
and unredeemable forfeit of all he hath about him."

"I hoarded it to purchase my freedom," said Gurth.

"Thou art an ass," replied one of the thieves "three quarts of
double ale had rendered thee as free as thy master, ay, and freer
too, if he be a Saxon like thyself."

"A sad truth," replied Gurth; "but if these same thirty zecchins
will buy my freedom from you, unloose my hands, and I will pay
them to you."

"Hold," said one who seemed to exercise some authority over the
others; "this bag which thou bearest, as I can feel through thy
cloak, contains more coin than thou hast told us of."

"It is the good knight my master's," answered Gurth, "of which,
assuredly, I would not have spoken a word, had you been satisfied
with working your will upon mine own property."

"Thou art an honest fellow," replied the robber, "I warrant thee;
and we worship not St Nicholas so devoutly but what thy thirty
zecchins may yet escape, if thou deal uprightly with us.
Meantime render up thy trust for a time." So saying, he took
from Gurth's breast the large leathern pouch, in which the purse
given him by Rebecca was enclosed, as well as the rest of the