The old monk gazed upon the prior with wonder, his face had so strange an expression. It was like the face of one who has a secret to tell and can hardly keep it in.
“What is it, my father? Hast thou brought joy or sorrow with thee?”
“Joy, I trust. We have reason to think thy gallant son is not dead.”
The father trembled. He could hardly stand.
“I know he is alive, but where?”
“On his way home.”
“Nay!”
“And in England!”
“Father, I am here.”
Hubert could restrain himself no longer.