“Poor boy! Make haste and get well!”
She trotted away, but the next day appeared again, and her mother, arriving in haste, found to her horror Joan sitting upon the edge of the crib, with Agrippa in her arms. Prothasy would have snatched him from her, but Joan put up her small hand lest she should come too near. She was actually trembling with ecstasy.
“He doesn’t bite, and he likes me. Isn’t he beautiful?”
Agrippa had conquered.
After this Hugh began to improve more rapidly Joan’s visits brought something into his life which had been wanting before, and he could not but be conscious of the kindness with which he had been nursed and cared for, when he might have expected very different treatment. He still watched Mistress Prothasy with anxiety, but his eyes followed Gervase with devotion which touched the good warden’s heart. Nothing had been said about Hugh’s flight during the worst part of his illness, but one afternoon in December, when Elyas had come in from consultation with the bishop at the Cathedral, he sat down on the boy’s bed.
“We shall have thee up and about by Christmas,” he said, cheerfully; “out by the New Year, and at work by Twelfth Day.”
“Ay, master,” said Hugh faintly.
Elyas turned and looked at him. “It were best for thee,” he said, “to tell me what ailed thee that day. I have heard nothing from thee.”
In a faltering voice Hugh would have murmured something scarce distinguishable, but Gervase made him put all into words. It is often hard so to describe one’s wrongs; things which had seemed of infinite importance lose dignity in the process, and there is an uncomfortable conviction that our hearers are not so greatly impressed as we desired. After all, except the threat about Agrippa, it looked trifling seen from a distance, and even for Agrippa—
“Hadst thou met with so much unkindness here, that thou couldst not trust us to do what was best?” asked Gervase gravely.