They that were near at hand stood agape. Others beyond said, “What is 't?” “Who is 't?”—and others again answered them, “'T is Long Will's little maid.” “'T is a maid with hair like the sun.” Those at the edge of the throng thought an angel was sent, and they crossed themselves.
The knight lifted his purple face, and his mouth dropped wide open.
All this while had Peter stood silent, passive, hopeless; but now he spoke:—
“In five months I were a free man,” he said, “but to-day I am this man's villein. He saith true.”
“Fool!” cried Hobbe; “I would have delivered thee.”
“Fool!” cried Jack Straw.
“Fool!” laughed the crowd. “Bind him!” “Give him to 's master!” “Bind him!” “Hobbe 's well rid!” “Bind him!”
So they bound him fast, and two stout knaves set him on the knight's horse, and the knight went into Westminster.
“Take me to him,” said Calote; and Wat carried her to the side of the horse.
“Good-by, mistress,” said Peter; “God bless thee!”