“Here 's one seeketh Calote,” said Hobbe.
Then the runner cried between gasp and gasp:
“Thus saith Wat Tyler to the maid Calote, 'It is an end. Now let the people arise. I have given the sign!'”
“Ah, Christ!” said Calote.
“Thus saith Wat Tyler to him men call Long Will, 'Thou hast a daughter. What wilt thou do if she be mishandled?'”
Will thrust Jack Straw from him that he fell on his knees by the wall.
“'What wilt thou do?'” cried the runner. “'Wilt not thou—even thou—slay the man? And what shall Wat Tyler do that is no clerk, but one itching for war? And I have a daughter,' saith Wat Tyler, 'but she is avenged. The man is slain. This man came in to gather the tax,—and I heard my daughter cry out.—Prate no more of love. I have slain the man. I have given the sign.' This is the word of Wat Tyler.”
Calote flung up her two arms with a cry, and there was joy and the sound of a sob in that cry:—
“Father, father!” she said; “'t has come,—'t has come! O Jesu, Mary, forgive,—but I am glad;—I 'm glad!—I 'm glad!”
And with her face in her father's breast she began to shake and to cry and to laugh, all in one breath.