Hugh’s illness was severe and painful, for he was racked with feverish rheumatism, and could scarcely bear to be touched or even looked at. Often he was light-headed and talked persistently of his father, imploring him not to leave him, and at other times would cry so bitterly that it was impossible to soothe him. Prothasy had been terribly shocked when her husband rode up to the door, carrying his unconscious burden, and had spared neither care nor attendance upon him, rigidly carrying out the directions of the leech, which to us would sound hopelessly fantastical, and listening patiently to his long disquisitions upon Aesculapius and Galen. But her presence seemed to disturb the boy, and she often drew back wounded. Strange to say, he endured Wat’s awkward though good-hearted ministrations, but the only person to whom he clung, to please whom he would take his medicine, and who seemed to have the power of causing him to sleep, was Elyas. One possible reason was that Master Gervase had a strange quickness in finding out what troubled him. Once or twice he had soothed him by putting before him his father’s carvings, and more often by placing Agrippa on the bed. The monkey had been ill himself after the exposure of that night, and it was Prothasy who—mightily it must be owned against her inclination—wrapped him in woollen, and though she could never be brought to take him on her lap, saw that he was not neglected.
But one day, when Hugh was really better and less feverish, though still in pain which made him fretful and peevish, he opened his eyes upon a new sight. A little girl, with golden hair and brown eyes, stood about a yard away from the crib, gazing with deep interest and her finger in her mouth, from him to Agrippa, who sat on the bed in his scarlet coat, and stared back at her. For a short time all three were silent, contemplating each other curiously. It was Joan who broke the silence, pointing to Agrippa.
“Doth he bite?”
Hitherto everyone who came near Hugh had asked how he felt or what they could do. Here was a change indeed!
“No.” Then with an effort—“You may stroke him, mistress.”
Upon this invitation Joan advanced, stretching out two rosy fingers. But they hesitated so long on the way that Hugh put forth his own wasted little hand, and conducted them to Agrippa’s head. Joan coloured crimson but would not show fear.
When she had got over the wonder of this courageous deed, she began to smile, bringing two dimples into her cheeks, and dancing a little up and down for joy.
“Art thou the new boy? Why doesn’t thou get up?”
This was too much; besides, the pain of stretching his hand had hold of him. Hugh shut his eyes and groaned. The next thing he felt was a dreadful shake of the crib, and a soft kiss planted upon his closed eye.