The boy closed the shutter and would have lain down, but Stephen called him feebly to his side.
“Remember,” he whispered, with difficulty. “For the glory of God.”
“Ay, father.”
“And the—enemies. Fight the right enemies.”
“Ay, father.”
Something the carver murmured, it might have been a blessing, but Hugh caught only the word, “Alice.”
“Shall I get thee aught, father?”
“Nay. Lie down—I will call if I need aught.”
It was his last self-denial for his child. The boy was soon asleep, but through the long hours, Stephen lay, fighting for breath, until the struggle ended in unconsciousness, and that, too, passed into death. When Elyas came in the early morning, and saw what had happened, he lifted Hugh in his strong arms and carried him into the room where the other boys slept. Wat was snoring peacefully with open mouth, but Roger was awake, and the master hastily whispered how it was to him.
“Keep the boy here. Tell him his father must not be disturbed,” he said.