I wrung his hand, and crossing the room, I bent for a moment and pressed a kiss upon the cold forehead of the boy; then I passed from the room.
The ship had turned, and was moving up the Thames at a rapid rate of speed towards London. I had gone upon deck, and wrapped in my cloak, stood watching the twinkling lights on the banks of the river, that marked where some pleasure house or dwelling lay. Someone touched me upon my arm, and looking up I saw the war-worn face of Sir William Stone.
"Nobly didst thou bear thyself," he said. "Thou hast fought as becoming a gentleman of thy house. Would that it might save thee."
"I have done my duty," I answered. "I leave the rest; I can do no more."
He looked at me in admiration.
"Sir Francis Drake left me thy gold-hilted sword, he said, "and bade me give it to thee, for he knew not when he would see thee again. What wouldst thou have me do with it?"
"Take it to Sir Robert Vane," I replied, "and give it to him with my compliments. It has never been drawn in a cause that would stain it since I have worn it."
"I will do it," he replied, and he looked out again at the lights. Then he touched me. "Look!" he said, pointing to where far before us there twinkled and sparkled many tiny lights—"It is London."
London—and so twenty-two months after I left it I was to enter my native land a captive, my life forfeited, old, broken, gray-headed, my heart bowed down with grief, alone and friendless, the only friend that I had on earth lying below at death's door. So I set foot again upon my native heath.