here, to
have fought as they did, on the little Revenge one after another of the
great Spanish ships, till at last the Revenge was riddled and helpless,
and Sir Richard called to the master-gunner to sink the ship for him,
but the men rebelled, and the Spaniards took what was left of ship and
fighters. And Sir Richard, mortally wounded, was carried on board the
flagship of his enemies, and died there, in his glory, while the
captains

--praised him to his face.
With their courtly Spanish grace.

So died, never man more greatly, Sir Richard Grenville, of Stow in
Devon.

The crimson and gold of sunset were streaming across the water as she
ended, and we sat silent. The sailor's face was grim, as men's faces are
when they are deeply stirred, but in his dark eyes burned an intensity
that reserve could not bold back, and as he still stared at the girl a
look shot from them that startled me like speech. She did not notice.
She was shaken with the passion of the words she had repeated, and
suddenly, through the sunlit, rippling silence, she spoke again.

"It's a great thing to be a Devonshire sailor," she said, solemnly. "A
wonderful inheritance--it ought never to be forgotten. And as for that
man--that Sir Richard Grenville Leigh--he ought to carry his name so
high that nothing low or small could ever touch it. He ought never to
think a thought that is not brave and fine and generous."

There was a moment's stillness and then I said, "Sally, my child, it
seems to me you are laying down the law a little freely for Devonshire.
You have only been here four days." And in a second she was on her usual
gay terms with the world again.

"A great preacher was wasted in me," she said. "How I could have
thundered at everybody else about their sins! Cousin Mary, I'm coming
down--I'm all battered, knocking against the must, and the little
trimmings hurt my hands."

Cary did not smile. His face was repressed and expressionless and in it
was a look that I did not understand. He turned soberly to his rudder
and across the broken gold and silver of the water the boat drew in to
shadowy Clovelly.

It was a shock, after we had landed and I had walked down the quay a few
yards to inspect the old Red Lion Inn, the house of Salvation Yeo, to
come back and find Sally dickering with Cary. I had agreed that this
sail should be her "party," because it pleased the girl's proud spirit
to open her small purse sometimes for my amus