“You need not tell me that, Amyas Leigh, my son.”

Another silence.

“How did he die?” whispered Mrs. Leigh.

“He is a martyr. He died in the—”

Amyas could say no more.

“The Inquisition?”

“Yes.”

A strong shudder passed through Mrs. Leigh’s frame, and then she lifted up her head.

“Come home, Amyas. I little expected such an honor—such an honor— ha! ha! and such a fair young martyr, too; a very St. Stephen! God, have mercy on me; and let me not go mad before these folk, when I ought to be thanking Thee for Thy great mercies! Amyas, who is that?”

And she pointed to Ayacanora, who stood close behind Amyas, watching with keen eyes the whole.

“She is a poor wild Indian girl—my daughter, I call her. I will tell you her story hereafter.”

“Your daughter? My grand-daughter, then. Come hither, maiden, and be my grand-daughter.” Ayacanora came obedient, and knelt down, because she had seen Amyas kneel.

“God forbid, child! kneel not to me. Come home, and let me know whether I am sane or mazed, alive or dead.”

And drawing her hood over her face, she turned to go back, holding Amyas tight by one hand, and Ayacanora by the other.

The crowd let them depart some twenty yards in respectful silence, and then burst into a cheer which made the old town ring.

Mrs. Leigh stopped suddenly.

“I had forgotten, Amyas. You must not let me stand in the way of your duty. Where are your men?”

“Kissed to death by this time; all of them, that is, who are left.”

“Left?”

“We went out a hundred, mother, and we came home forty-four—if we are at home. Is it a dream, mother? Is this you? and this old Bridgeland Street again? As I live, there stands Evans the smith, at his door, tankard in hand, as he did when I was a boy!”

The brawny smith came across the street to them; but stopped when he saw Amyas, but no Frank.

“Better one than neither, madam!” said he, trying a rough comfort. Amyas shook his hand as he passed him; but Mrs. Leigh neither heard nor saw him nor any one.

“Mother,” said Amyas, when they were now past the causeway, “we are rich for life.”

“Yes; a martyr’s death was the fittest for him.”