“How did my brother die, Lucy?” asked Amyas, still calmly.
“Who be you, sir?”
A gleam of hope flashed across Amyas—she had not answered his question.
“I am Amyas Leigh of Burrough. Do you know aught of my brother Frank, who was lost at La Guayra?”
“Mr. Amyas! Heaven forgive me that I did not know the bigness of you. Your brother, sir, died like a gentleman as he was.”
“But how?” gasped Amyas.
“Burned with her, sir!”
“Is this true, sir?” said Amyas, turning to the bishop, with a very quiet voice.
“I, sir?” stammered he, in panting haste. “I had nothing to do—I was compelled in my office of bishop to be an unwilling spectator—the secular arm, sir; I could not interfere with that—any more than I can with the Holy Office. I do not belong to it—ask that gentleman—sir! Saints and angels, sir! what are you going to do?” shrieked he, as Amyas laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder, and began to lead him towards the door.
“Hang you!” said Amyas. “If I had been a Spaniard and a priest like yourself, I should have burnt you alive.”