“Then here is his health, the health of a true friend to all bold mariners, and myself in particular!  But where is he now?”

“Coming here to-morrow, as I hope—­for he left London with me, and so down by us into Cornwall, to drill the train-bands, as he is bound to do, being Seneschal of the Duchies and Lieutenant-General of the county.”

“Besides Lord Warden of the Stanneries!  How the man thrives!” said Mrs. Leigh.

“How the man deserves to thrive!” said Amyas; “but what are we to do?”

“That is the rub.  I would fain stay and fight the Spaniards.”

“So would I; and will.”

“But he has other plans in his head for us.”

“We can make our own plans without his help.”

“Heyday, Amyas!  How long?  When did he ask you to do a thing yet and you refuse him?”

“Not often, certainly; but Spaniards I must fight.”

“Well, so must I, boy:  but I have given a sort of promise to him, nevertheless.”

“Not for me too, I hope?”

“No:  he will extract that himself when he comes; you must come and sup to-morrow, and talk it over.”

“Be talked over, rather.  What chestnut does the cat want us monkeys to pull out of the fire for him now, I wonder?”

“Sir Richard Grenville is hardly accustomed to be called a monkey,” said Mrs. Leigh.

“I meant no harm; and his worship knows it, none better:  but where is Raleigh going to send us, with a murrain?”

“To Virginia.  The settlers must have help:  and, as I trust in God, we shall be back again long before this armament can bestir itself.”

So Raleigh came, saw, and conquered.  Mrs. Leigh consented to Amyas’s going (for his twelve-month would be over ere the fleet could start) upon so peaceful and useful an errand; and the next five months were spent in continual labor on the part of Amyas and Grenville, till seven ships were all but ready in Bideford river, the admiral whereof was Amyas Leigh.

But that fleet was not destined ever to see the shores of the New World:  it had nobler work to do (if Americans will forgive the speech) than even settling the United States.

It was in the long June evenings, in the year 1588; Mrs. Leigh sat in the open window, busy at her needle-work; Ayacanora sat opposite to her, on the seat of the bay, trying diligently to read “The History of the Nine Worthies,” and stealing a glance every now and then towards the garden, where Amyas stalked up and down as he had used to do in happier days gone by.  But his brow was contracted now, his eyes fixed on the ground, as he plodded backwards and forwards, his hands behind his back, and a huge cigar in his mouth, the wonder of the little boys of Northam, who peeped in stealthily as they passed the iron-work gates, to see the back of the famous fire-breathing captain who had sailed round the world and been in the country of headless men and flying dragons, and then popped