“Not if I believe in God,—and Christ the King's Son of heaven.”
“And is this the end of all trusting in God, that a man shall fold his hands and do nothing?”
He winced, and she had flung her arms about his neck, and pressed her cheek to his, and she was sobbing; he tasted the salt of her tears against his lips.
“Father, forgive me! Say thou dost forgive me!—But all my little lifetime thou hast laboured on this poem—when I was a babe I learned to speak by the sound of thy voice a-murmuring the Vision. All the light o' learning I have to light me to Godward and to my fellows, I got it from the Vision. All the fire o' love I have in my heart was kindled at its flame;—yea—for all other love I quench with my tears; I will not let no other love burn. And now, when the fire is kindled past smothering, and the light burns ever so bright, thou dost turn the Vision against itself, for to confound all them that have believed on thy word. Wilt thou light a light but to snuff it back to darkness? Wilt thou kindle a fire but to choke us with smoke? 'T is now too late. Haply 't is thy part to sit still and sing; but I—I cannot sing, and I cannot sit still. I am not so wise as thou, nor so patient. Is 't kind to 'wilder me with thy wisdom, my father? Is 't wise to cover me with a pall of patience, if I must needs die to lie quiet?”
“An I give thee leave, what is 't thou 'lt do?” he asked her, in a level, weary voice.
“I 'll follow the King to Gloucester, and there have speech of him and a token. After, I 'll bid the people to know the King loveth them,—and they are to come up to London to a great uprising, what time John Ball, and Wat, and Jack Straw shall give sign. Then there shall be no more poor and rich; but all men shall love one another, the knight and the cook's knave, the King and the ploughman. Much more I 'll say, out of the Vision; and of fellowship, such as John Ball preacheth.”
“The clergy clap John Ball into prison for such words, whensoever they may.”
“And for this reason is it better that I should be about when he may not; for what am I but a maiden? Clergy will not take keep of me. I 'm not afeared of no harm that may befal me;—though haply—harm may.”
“Knoweth that young squire aught of this journey?”
“Nay, father.”