"Look, Hubert! this is the bridge we were told of, and yonder high wall must be White Friars; it cannot be many steps to good Philip Naseby's." Then as the other did not seem to attend, he added, lower: "We must not be seen loitering here as though we were strangers--Mark Catliffe may have dispatched word of our coming, and it were best to be among friends ere our enemies know we have come."
The boy raised himself with an effort, and they proceeded. Fortunately, it was but a stone's throw; and having passed under the high wall of the monastery, they turned into a narrow lane, and stopped at the open front of a shop. The master stood upon the step; they both knew him from the description they had heard of him; but it was best to be on the safe side; so they approached as though wishing to purchase.
"Have you a warm cloak, master trader, that may serve to keep the snow and rain from my shoulders this cold Christmas?"
The man looked rather suspiciously at the boys' tattered garments, but a glance at their faces changed his tone to one of respect and pity. "The Lord save you, young masters, it is truly but sorry weather to travel in. Will ye not step in and rest a bit?"
"I thank you, Philip Naseby," said Geoffrey, stepping within the shop; "the Lord is truly my help all the day long."
The trader's face lighted up as he gave the necessary answer to the password, and grasping a hand of each, he led them to a little back-apartment, and placed stools for them. He received them as eagerly as though they were his nearest relations, though as yet he knew neither their name nor their errand. Lord Cobham's message explained all, and then they were overwhelmed with questions. Good news always makes the bearers welcome, and the fact that they brought intelligence of Lord Cobham's escape, as well as their father's name, was a full passport to the honest trader's heart.
He called his wife, and having told her who were their guests, she dispatched their daughter to bring some refreshment, while she and her husband removed their torn and soaked outer garments.
"Poor boy!" said the good woman, as she noticed Hubert's bleeding and blistered feet, "thou hast walked far to day?"
"A good twenty miles since midnight," sighed the weary child, the very mention of the distance bringing back, with redoubled force, the memory of suffering.
"But why did you not stop at the house of good Mark Catliffe, the miller of Lianton? He has given a bed and a welcome to many a weary traveler, and especially to those who love the Master."