“See here,” he said, with a sigh, “though in good sooth one needs eyes of more than human power to examine so minute a structure. There is a talk that one of our order, Friar Bacon, who died not many years ago, could by means of a strange instrument so enlarge distant objects as to bring them into the range of a man’s vision. I know not. Many strange things are told of him, and many of our brethren believe that he had dealings with the black art. It might be he was only in advance of us all. But while he was about it I would he had taught us how to enlarge what is near. And, indeed, there is talk of a magic beryl—”
“Father, father!” cried Hugh, rushing in breathless; “we have been to the river, and there was a ship, and a little maiden called Moll, and the master has bid me on board the ship before he sails for Dartmouth.”
He poured out the history of the day, standing by his father’s knee, with Agrippa nestling in his arms. Bassett heard him so thoughtfully that Hugh began to think he was displeased.
“Mayn’t I go?” he asked, tremulously.
“Ay, ay,” said his father, absently. “Friar Luke, tell me truly, do you still dread for me this journey to Exeter?”
“Rather more than less,” answered the friar.
“The fatigue?”
“Ay, fatigue and exposure, but chiefly the fatigue.”
“Yet I must go.”
“Ay, ay, there is ever a must in the mouth of a wilful man,” said the friar, testily. “And then you fall sick, and it is the fault of the leech.”