“Oh, sire, for love's sake be gentle, not for hate! They are thy people.”
“Etienne, Etienne,—did I not love them? I set them free. Ah,—do not, do not,—I shall weep again,—and I 've left weeping.”
CHAPTER VIII
The Friday Night
IGHT was fallen on that unlucky Friday, but the massacre of the Flemings not yet ended, when Stephen came to Langland's cot from the Garde Robe where Richard sheltered.
“Will! Where 's Will?” cried Kitte, searching the squire's face.
“Not here?”
“Ah, woe!” said Kitte, and went and sat down heavily in a corner.
Stephen had with him a torch, and he set it in a ring by the wall. It was all the light in that house. Then he sat on the old chest and Calote came to his side. He was very weary and leaned his head in his hand.