“The word hath been spoken, my father, the thought is born. Though the King know it not, yet are we free. By fellowship shall we win in the years to come. A long battle,—but it ends in victory.”
“Not in my day,” said Will, “nor thine.”
“What are days?” cried Stephen. “I 've lost count.”
Then Will Langland kissed Stephen Fitzwarine, and “Even so is it in mine own heart, O son,” he said. “But for the most part folk is sorrowful and faithless.”
“I have set my life in order,” said Stephen. “If ever I come forth of this prison-house, I 'll give to each and every villein o' my manor that piece of land he tilleth, to have and to hold. Likewise I 'll free them severally. This I may do within the law, for that the manor is mine.”
“Calote saith she will never be thy wife,” Will repeated,—nevertheless he smiled.
“Do thou say this to Calote, O my father,—my device is 'Steadfast.'”
CHAPTER XII
Y-Robed in Russet
