But as they hurried along, he asked her what on earth she meant? “I talk of this friar, and you answer me of Gerard.”
“Man, see you not, this is Gerard!”
“This, Gerard? what mean ye?”
“I mean, yon friar is my boy's father. I have waited for him long, Jorian. Well, he is come to me at last. And thank God for it. Oh, my poor child! Quicker, Jorian, quicker!”
“Why, thou art mad as he. Stay! By St. Bavon, yon was Gerard's face; 'twas nought like it; yet somehow—'twas it. Come on! come on! let me see the end of this.”
“The end? How many of us will live to see that?”
They hurried along in breathless silence, till they reached Hoog Straet.
Then Jorian tried to reassure her. “You are making your own trouble,” said he; “who says he has gone thither? more likely to the convent to weep and pray, poor soul. Oh, cursed, cursed villains!”
“Did not you tell him where those villains bide?”
“Ay, that I did.”