"It may be that your life will pay the price." Wulf was dreaming, dreaming that he stood on his head upon a wooden plank, as once he had seen a juggler do, which turned round one way while he turned round the other, till at length some one shouted at him, and he tumbled off the board and hurt himself.

Then he awoke to hear a voice shouting surely enough--the voice of Matthew, the chaplain of Steeple Church.
"Awake!" said the voice.

"In God's name, I conjure you, awake!" "What is it ?" he said, lifting his head sleepily, and becoming conscious of a dull pain across his forehead.
"It is that death and the devil have been here, Sir Wulf." "Well, they are often near together.

But I thirst.

Give me water." A serving-woman, pallid, dishevelled, heavy-eyed, who was stumbling to and fro, lighting torches and tapers, for it was still dark, brought it to him in a leathern jack, from which he drank deeply.
"That is better," he said.