The tears came again to Hugh's eyes.
"There is much to tell," he began.
"Nay, it can wait," interrupted his father. "Before all else, I would hear of you yourself, Hugh. You completed your twenty-one years at Chesby, as my charter provided?"
"Ay, father, but with an ill grace."
"I doubt not, but I am glad of it, Hugh. It gave you a few years more of English freedom and the sunlight ere you came to this."
"But what avails this, an I have found you!"
Sir James hugged Hugh's mailed shoulders.
"Selfish I am, God wot," he said. "But I cannot find it in my heart to grieve. Ah, Hugh, for a score of years I have thought of you and wondered how you fared—ay, if you lived. I dealt ill by you, fair son. I was wrong to allow my sore dolour for her that was your mother to sway me from the duty of a parent. But St. James be my witness that I intended to return ere you came to manhood. When I voyaged to Constantinople for the last time 'twas with intent to fulfil my errand there and then return to England."
"If only you had!"
"God did not will it so. Doubt not, Hugh, our Lord dealt wisely when he brought me this suffering. Perchance, I had grown selfish in my quest for fame. But enough of this. I must have your story. 'Twill seem like a breath of the free world outside. This host you speak of, fair son—how came it hither?"