“The Inquisition?”
“Yes.”
A strong shudder passed through Mrs. Leigh's frame, and then she lifted up her head.
“Come home, Amyas. I little expected such an honor—such an honor—ha! ha! and such a fair young martyr, too; a very St. Stephen! God, have mercy on me; and let me not go mad before these folk, when I ought to be thanking Thee for Thy great mercies! Amyas, who is that?”
And she pointed to Ayacanora, who stood close behind Amyas, watching with keen eyes the whole.
“She is a poor wild Indian girl—my daughter, I call her. I will tell you her story hereafter.”
“Your daughter? My grand-daughter, then. Come hither, maiden, and be my grand-daughter.”
Ayacanora came obedient, and knelt down, because she had seen Amyas kneel.
“God forbid, child! kneel not to me. Come home, and let me know whether I am sane or mazed, alive or dead.”
And drawing her hood over her face, she turned to go back, holding Amyas tight by one hand, and Ayacanora by the other.