Mrs. Leigh knew enough of Amyas to know that any burst of this kind, from his quiet nature, betokened some very fearful struggle; and the loving creature forgot everything instantly, in the one desire to soothe him.

And soothe him she did; and home the two went, arm in arm together, while Ayacanora held fast, like a child, by the skirt of Mrs. Leigh’s cloak.  The self-help and daring of the forest nymph had given place to the trembling modesty of the young girl, suddenly cast on shore in a new world, among strange faces, strange hopes, and strange fears also.

“Will your mother love me?” whispered she to Amyas, as she went in.

“Yes; but you must do what she tells you.”

Ayacanora pouted.

“She will laugh at me, because I am wild.”

“She never laughs at any one.”

“Humph!” said Ayacanora.  “Well, I shall not be afraid of her.  I thought she would have been tall like you; but she is not even as big as me.”

This hardly sounded hopeful for the prospect of Ayacanora’s obedience; but ere twenty-four hours had passed, Mrs. Leigh had won her over utterly; and she explained her own speech by saying that she thought so great a man ought to have a great mother.  She had expected, poor thing, in her simplicity, some awful princess with a frown like Juno’s own, and found instead a healing angel.

Her story was soon told to Mrs. Leigh, who of course, woman-like, would not allow a doubt as to her identity.  And the sweet mother never imprinted a prouder or fonder kiss upon her son’s forehead, than that with which she repaid his simple declaration, that he had kept unspotted, like a gentleman and a Christian, the soul which God had put into his charge.

“Then you have forgiven me, mother?”

“Years ago I said in this same room, what should I render to the Lord for having given me two such sons?  And in this room I say it once again.  Tell me all about my other son, that I may honor him as I honor you.”

And then, with the iron nerve which good women have, she made him give her every detail of Lucy Passmore’s story and of all which had happened from the day of their sailing to that luckless night at Guayra.  And when it was done, she led Ayacanora out, and began busying herself about the girl’s comforts, as calmly as if Frank and Amyas had been sleeping in their cribs in the next room.

But she had hardly gone upstairs, when a loud knock at the door was followed by its opening hastily; and into the hall burst, regardless of etiquette, the tall and stately figure of Sir Richard Grenville.

Amyas dropped on his knees instinctively.  The stern warrior was quite unmanned; and as he bent over his godson, a tear dropped from that iron cheek, upon the iron cheek of Amyas Leigh.

“My lad! my glorious lad! and where have you been?  Get up, and tell me all.  The sailors told me a little, but I must hear every word.  I knew you would do something grand.  I told your mother you were too good a workman for God to throw away.  Now, let me have the whole story.  Why, I am out of breath!  To tell truth, I ran three-parts of the way hither.”