No crowd followed Peter on his last journey but one, though the whole Island had swarmed after Tom Hamon.
They wanted to see the man who would have been killed for killing Tom, though he didn't do it, but for—circumstances, and his own pluck and endurance.
And when the Sénéchal beckoned to one of the circumstances, and put his hand on her slim shoulder, and said—
"We are going for him. I thought you would like to come too," her face went rosy with gratitude, and the brave little hands clasped up on to her breast, as she murmured—
"Oh, M. le Sénéchal!" and choked at anything more.
Those nearest gave her rough words of encouragement.
"Cheer up, Nance! You'll soon have him back!"
"That's a brave garche! Don't cry about it now!"
"We'll make it up to him, lass. We'll all come and dance at the wedding"—and so on.
But the Sénéchal patted her on the shoulder and asked—