“Oh, my brother! my brother!” moaned poor Adrian; “the glory of his house, the glory of Devon!”
“Ah! what will the queen say?” asked Mrs. Hawkins through her tears.
“Tell me,” asked Adrian, “had he the jewel on when he died?”
“The queen's jewel? He always wore that, and his own posy too, 'Mutare vel timere sperno.' He wore it; and he lived it.”
“Ay,” said Adrian, “the same to the last!”
“Not quite that,” said Amyas. “He was a meeker man latterly than he used to be. As he said himself once, a better refiner than any whom he had on board had followed him close all the seas over, and purified him in the fire. And gold seven times tried he was, when God, having done His work in him, took him home at last.”
And so the talk ended. There was no doubt that the expedition had been an utter failure; Adrian was a ruined man; and Amyas had lost his venture.
Adrian rose, and begged leave to retire; he must collect himself.
“Poor gentleman!” said Mrs. Hawkins; “it is little else he has left to collect.”
“Or I either,” said Amyas. “I was going to ask you to lend me one of your son's shirts, and five pounds to get myself and my men home.”