“I did all that I could, and that was nothing; but it was the pretending that was my sin. I, who was made for nothing but to measure lace and lawns, should not have given myself over as a man of war, and boasted of deeds that I knew that I could not perform. It has broken their mother´s heart, and I think it has broken mine. I cannot think they are gone; indeed I cannot. Why, I stood listening to their footsteps on the stairs even as I came into your room, and I heard them calling ‘Daddy,´ every one of them. But ´tis a sin to mourn.” “Nay, nay, man, weep to your heart´s content, and tell them I said a man´s tears are as manly as his courage. We must all face it some day.” “I cannot help it,” said Simon, drying his eyes, “but you do not know what it is for a father to part with the red-cheeked boys he loved: we have come through a great tribulation.” “Thank God there is an end of it now. In a day or two there will not be an Irish Regiment north of the Boyne, and I hope we´ll get back to the works of peace again. I myself will turn husbandman and beat my sword into a pruning hook.” “And marry the sweet lass by the Bishop´s-Gate, and nurse your brave boys on your knee. You see we have had eyes, Mr. Orme.” “I do not know how that may be, but----” “And,” Simon went on, “if you will do me the honour to let me furnish you with the wedding coat, I´ll warrant it of the finest--a free gift at my hands, for all your kindness to me and the boys.” “We must first find the lady,” laughed Gervase. “I think she is already found, and I know she is very sweet to look at.”