He must see--at all costs he must see. And he climbed down from his chair,
and crept unnoticed towards the front. Nobody saw him or realised him....
Stephen was bending back, he seemed to be slowly sinking down. The other
man, from whose face blood was now streaming, was pressing on to him. Peter
knew that it was all over and that there was no hope; there was a dreadful
cold, hard pain in his throat, and he could scarcely see. Courage! he must
have it for Stephen. With every bit of his soul and his mind and his body
he was brave. He stood taut--his little legs stiff beneath him and flung
defiance at the world. He and Stephen were fighting that shiny man
together--both of them--now. Courage! Stephen's head lifted a little, and
then slowly Peter saw him pulling his body together--he grew rigid, he
raised his head, and, as a tree falls, his fist crashed into his enemy's
face. The man dropped without a word and lay motionless. It was over.
Stephen gravely watched for a moment the senseless body and then sat back
in his chair, his head bowed on his chest.

The fight had not, perhaps, been like that--there must have been many other
things that happened, but that was always how Peter remembered it. And now
there was confusion--a great deal of noise and people talking very loudly,
but Stephen said nothing at all. He did not look at the body again, but
when he had recovered a little, still without a word to any one and with
his eyes grave and without expression, he moved to the corner where his
clothes lay.

"'E's not dead."

"No--give 'im room there, he's moving," and from the back of the crowd the
Fool's silly face, peering over...

Peter crept unnoticed to the door. The clocks were striking ten, and some