The torch went out, but the door into the lane was open and a little moonlight shone on Stephen's face. Without on Cornhill red-handed prentices were going home to their beds. There was fierce mirth in Dame Emma's tavern. After a little the front door of the cot was pushed open and a man came in. When he had stood still a moment, he heard the sound of measured breathing in the room and he knew that a man was asleep there. Then he saw where the sleeper lay, on the edge of the moonlight; and after this he came more close and saw the sleeper's face. But his own face was hid by the darkness. He drew something from his belt and it flashed against the shine of the moon and dripped. Then he came betwixt Stephen and the door, and the light was cut off from Stephen's face. There was no sound in the room but Stephen's breathing,—'t would seem the other held his breath. He kneeled down, and now 't was his own face the moon shone on. He was smiling very evil. He lifted up his hand that held the flashing thing,—and Kitte in the doorway cried “Awake!” in a very loud voice and threw herself upon the man, and he turned his hand and drove the knife into her breast. Then he fled by the door, and Kitte fell across Stephen's knees where he had sat up on a sudden out of his sleep.
When he would have lifted her, he found the hilt of the knife.
“Do not draw it forth,” said Kitte, “not yet. Will—may—come.”
Then Stephen called Calote, who came into this great grief rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Nay, weep not, child,” said Kitte when 't was told. “What shall thy true love believe,—dost thou grudge him life?”
But Calote sobbed more bitterly, lying on the floor beside her mother.
“Will,” Kitte whispered; and Stephen went to the door and looked out and saw him coming.
“I have been going up and down,” said Will, “praying mercy. But they are mad with blood. One man I saved; but when I came that way again another had slain him and he lay in the ditch. Yonder in the tavern Wat and his demon Pride make merry and proclaim how they will rule England. Poor Wat! Already there be certain of his fellows look askance. Poor Wat!”
“Go in!” whispered Stephen, and told him.
After, the squire pushed him in for that he stood as one in amaze, and shut the door on all that sorrow. But himself remained without, and presently crossed the street to the tavern to give Richard's message to the roisterers.