“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.”

“I have brought home treasure untold.”

“What, my boy?”

“Treasure untold.  Cary has promised to see to it to-night.”

“Very well.  I would that he had slept at our house.  He was a kindly lad, and loved Frank.  When did he?”—­

“Three years ago, and more.  Within two months of our sailing.”

“Ah!  Yes, he told me so.”

“Told you so?”

“Yes; the dear lad has often come to see me in my sleep; but you never came.  I guessed how it was—­as it should be.”

“But I loved you none the less, mother!”

“I know that, too:  but you were busy with the men, you know, sweet; so your spirit could not come roving home like his, which was free.  Yes—­all as it should be.  My maid, and do you not find it cold here in England, after those hot regions?”

“Ayacanora’s heart is warm; she does not think about cold.”

“Warm? perhaps you will warm my heart for me, then.”

“Would God I could do it, mother!” said Amyas, half reproachfully.

Mrs. Leigh looked up in his face, and burst into a violent flood of tears.

“Sinful! sinful that I am!”

“Blessed creature!” cried Amyas, “if you speak so I shall go mad.  Mother, mother, I have been dreading this meeting for months.  It has been a nightmare hanging over me like a horrible black thunder-cloud; a great cliff miles high, with its top hid in the clouds, which I had to climb, and dare not.  I have longed to leap overboard, and flee from it like a coward into the depths of the sea.—­The thought that you might ask me whether I was not my brother’s keeper—­that you might require his blood at my hands—­and now, now! when it comes! to find you all love, and trust, and patience—­mother, mother, it’s more than I can bear!” and he wept violently.