The crowd let them depart some twenty yards in respectful silence, and then burst into a cheer which made the old town ring.
Mrs. Leigh stopped suddenly.
“I had forgotten, Amyas. You must not let me stand in the way of your duty. Where are your men?”
“Kissed to death by this time; all of them, that is, who are left.”
“Left?”
“We went out a hundred, mother, and we came home forty-four—if we are at home. Is it a dream, mother? Is this you? and this old Bridgeland Street again? As I live, there stands Evans the smith, at his door, tankard in hand, as he did when I was a boy!”
The brawny smith came across the street to them; but stopped when he saw Amyas, but no Frank.
“Better one than neither, madam!” said he, trying a rough comfort. Amyas shook his hand as he passed him; but Mrs. Leigh neither heard nor saw him nor any one.
“Mother,” said Amyas, when they were now past the causeway, “we are rich for life.”
“Yes; a martyr's death was the fittest for him.”