“Susan Yeo.” “What, that lived under the archway?” asked a groom. “Lived?” said the man. “Iss, sure; her died three days since, so we heard, poor soul.” The man stood quite silent and unmoved for a minute or two; and then said quietly to himself, in Spanish, “That which is, is best.” “You speak Spanish?” asked Amyas, more and more interested. “I had need to do so, young sir; I have been five years in the Spanish Main, and only set foot on shore two days ago; and if you will let me have speech of Sir Richard, I will tell him that at which both the ears of him that heareth it shall tingle; and if not, I can but go on to Mr. Cary of Clovelly, if he be yet alive, and there disburden my soul; but I would sooner have spoken with one that is a mariner like to myself.” “And you shall,” said Amyas. “Steward, we will have this man in; for all his rags, he is a man of wit.” And he led him in. “I only hope he ben't one of those Popish murderers,” said the old steward, keeping at a safe distance from him as they entered the hall. “Popish, old master? There's little fear of my being that. Look here!” And drawing back his rags, he showed a ghastly scar, which encircled his wrist and wound round and up his fore-arm. “I got that on the rack,” said he, quietly, “in the Inquisition at Lima.” “O Father! Father! why didn't you tell us that you were a poor Christian?” asked the penitent steward. “Because I have had naught but my deserts; and but a taste of them either, as the Lord knoweth who delivered me; and I wasn't going to make myself a beggar and a show on their account.” “By heaven, you are a brave fellow!” said Amyas. “Come along straight to Sir Richard's room.” So in they went, where Sir Richard sat in his library among books, despatches, state-papers, and warrants; for though he was not yet, as in after times (after the fashion of those days) admiral, general, member of parliament, privy councillor, justice of the peace, and so forth, all at once, yet there were few great men with whom he did not correspond, or great matters with which he was not cognizant. “Hillo, Amyas, have you bound the wild man already, and brought him in to swear allegiance?” But before Amyas could answer, the man looked earnestly on him--“Amyas?” said he; “is that your name, sir?” “Amyas Leigh is my name, at your service, good fellow.” “Of Burrough by Bideford?” “Why then? What do you know of me?” “Oh sir, sir! young brains and happy ones have short memories; but old and sad brains too long ones often! Do you mind one that was with Mr. Oxenham, sir? A swearing reprobate he was, God forgive him, and hath forgiven him too, for His dear Son's sake--one, sir, that gave you a horn, a toy with a chart on it?” “Soul alive!” cried Amyas, catching him by the hand; “and are you he? The horn? why, I have it still, and will keep it to my dying day, too. But where is Mr. Oxenham?”