Now the seaward door opened, and a swirl of spray from the breakers
on the rocks came in with my host, who set a great armful of drift
wood on the floor, closed it, and so turned to me.
"Good morrow, my son," he said. "How fare you after rest?"
"Well as can be, father," I answered, sitting up. "Stiff I am, and
maybe somewhat black and blue, but that is all. I have no hurt. But
surely I have slept long?"
"A matter of ten hours, my son, and that without stirring. You
needed it sorely, so I let you be. Now it is time for food, but
first you shall have a bath, and that will do wonders with the
soreness."
Thankful enough was I of the great tub of hot water he had ready
for me, and after it and a good meal I was a new man. My host said
nought till I had finished, and then it was I who broke the silence
between us.
"Father," I said, "I have much to thank you for. What may I call
you?"
"They name me Govan the Hermit, my son."
"I do not know how to say all I would, Father Govan," I went on,
"but I was in a sore strait last night, and but for your bell I
think I must have perished in the snow, or in some of the clefts of
these cliffs."
"I rang the bell for you, my son, though I knew not why. It came on
me that one was listening for some sign of help in the storm."
"How could you know?" I asked in wonder.
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