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 Senechal 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 Senechal!" 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 Senechal patted her on the shoulder and asked--
"And where is your brother? He should come, too. I hear you have both
been in this matter."
"Ah, monsieur!" she said, with brimming eyes and a pathetic little lift
and fall of the hand, which expressed far more than she could put into
words. "We fear ... we fear he is drowned. He swam out to the rock taking
food, and .
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