"
So they jogged on together until passing Saint Catherine's shrine
they crossed the winding Wey once more, and so found themselves in
the steep high street with its heavy-caved gabled houses, its
monkish hospitium upon the left, where good ale may still be
quaffed, and its great square-keeped castle upon the right, no
gray and grim skeleton of ruin, but very quick and alert, with
blazoned banner flying free, and steel caps twinkling from the
battlement. A row of booths extended from the castle gate to the
high street, and two doors from the Church of the Trinity was that
of Thorold the goldsmith, a rich burgess and Mayor of the town.
He looked long and lovingly at the rich rubies and at the fine
work upon the goblet. Then he stroked his flowing gray beard as
he pondered whether he should offer fifty nobles or sixty, for he
knew well that he could sell them again for two hundred. If he
offered too much his profit would be reduced. If he offered too
little the youth might go as far as London with them, for they
were rare and of great worth. The young man was ill-clad, and his
eyes were anxious. Perchance he was hard pressed and was ignorant
of the value of what he bore. He would sound him.
"These things are old and out of fashion, fair sir," said he. "Of
the stones I can scarce say if they are of good quality or not,
but they are dull and rough.
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