“Father, father, here is Exeter!” cried Hugh, with anxious longing for some reassuring word.
But he got no answer, and not daring to pause lest the gates might be shut, he joined the throng of citizens who were pressing in for the same good reason, and passed through the gate before setting himself to ask any questions. The first person he addressed gave him a shove and told him to get out of his way; but the second, who by his dress and bearing might have been some kind of trader, stopped at once, and having satisfied his own curiosity as to who they were and where they came from, showed himself of a most friendly nature.
“We are in the Western or High Street,” he said; “we have come through the West Gate, and the Franciscans have their house between this and the North Gate. But thou art a little varlet to have so much on thy hands, and thy father looks in a sore plight. A monkey, too! How far have you come?”
“Some sixteen miles, noble sir.”
“Nay, I am no noble; only plain Elyas Gervase. Sixteen miles, and a dy— a sick man who can scarce keep on his horse! What doth he work at?”
“He is a wood-carver, sir.”
“Why, that is somewhat my own craft, since I am a stone-cutter. Have you friends in this fair town?”
“Father has a letter to the prior, and I am to seek out a cousin of my mother’s, Master James Alwyn,” said poor Hugh wearily.
“The child himself is almost spent,” muttered the good citizen to himself. “Prothasy would make them welcome, and we are surely bidden to entertain strangers. Thou and thy father shall come home with me,” he added aloud, laying his hand kindly on Hugh’s shoulder. “My house is nigher than the monastery, and I will speak to a learned leech as we pass. Both of ye need a woman’s care.”
If the boy was a little bewildered at this change of plan he could not oppose it, nor had he any desire to do so. There was something in Master Gervase’s honest face which instinctively inspired confidence. He was a man of about forty-five, somewhat light as to complexion and hair, his beard was forked, his eyebrows were straight, marking a kindly temper, and his eye was clear and open. He wore an under tunic of blue cloth, with buttons closely set from the wrist to the elbow of the tight sleeve, tight pantaloons, and low boots with long pointed toes. His hair hung a little below his ears, and was covered by a cap. He walked up the steep Western Street by the side of the horse, passing his strong arm round poor Stephen’s bowed form so as in some measure to support him, and he paused presently before a door, and sent in a boy to say that Master Gervase prayed Master Miles to come without delay. A few minutes after this they stopped again before a timbered house projecting far into the narrow street. Without a moment’s delay Gervase had lifted Stephen from the horse, and rather carried than led him in.