“Umph! that is one word too much, mother.  If you don’t want to send me crazy, don’t put the thing on the score of gratitude or duty.  As it is, I can hardly speak civilly to her (God forgive me!) when I recollect that she belongs to the crew who murdered him”—­and he pointed to the picture, and Mrs. Leigh shuddered as he did so.

“You feel it!  You know you feel it, tender-hearted, forgiving angel as you are; and what do you think I must feel?”

“Oh, my son, my son!” cried she, wringing her hands, “if I be wretch enough to give place to the devil for a moment, does that give you a right to entertain and cherish him thus day by day?”

“I should cherish him with a vengeance, if I brought up a crew of children who could boast of a pedigree of idolaters and tyrants, hunters of Indians, and torturers of women!  How pleasant to hear her telling Master Jack, ’Your illustrious grand-uncle the pope’s legate, was the man who burned Rose Salterne at Cartagena;’ or Miss Grace, ’Your great-grandfather of sixteen quarterings, the Marquis of this, son of the Grand-equerry that, and husband of the Princess t’other, used to feed his bloodhounds, when beef was scarce, with Indians’ babies!’ Eh, mother?  These things are true, and if you can forget them, I cannot.  Is it not enough to have made me forego for awhile my purpose, my business, the one thing I live for, and that is, hunting down the Spaniards as I would adders or foxes, but you must ask me over and above to take one to my bosom?”

“Oh, my son, my son!  I have not asked you to do that; I have only commanded you, in God’s name, to be merciful, if you wish to obtain mercy.  Oh, if you will not pity this poor maiden, pity yourself; for God knows you stand in more need of it than she does!”

Amyas was silent for a minute or two; and then,—­

“If it were not for you, mother, would God that the Armada would come!”

“What, and ruin England?”

“No!  Curse them!  Not a foot will they ever set on English soil, such a welcome would we give them.  If I were but in the midst of that fleet, fighting like a man—­to forget it all, with a galleon on board of me to larboard, and another to starboard—­and then to put a linstock in the magazine, and go aloft in good company—­I don’t care how soon it comes, mother, if it were not for you.”

“If I am in your way, Amyas, do not fear that I shall trouble you long.”

“Oh, mother, mother, do not talk in that way!  I am half-mad, I think, already, and don’t know what I say.  Yes, I am mad; mad at heart, though not at head.  There’s a fire burning me up, night and day, and nothing but Spanish blood will put it out.”

“Or the grace of God, my poor wilful child!  Who comes to the door?—­so quickly, too?”

There was a loud hurried knocking, and in another minute a serving-man hurried in with a letter.

“This to Captain Amyas Leigh with haste, haste!”