But they let him go.
_Cromwell:_
What was it? The girl has heart enough.
_Bassett:_
Both thumbs, both ears, the tongue, and a T on the forehead.
_Amos:_
It wasn't Seth, sir. It couldn't be Seth--not like that. He was the
beauty of the four parishes.
_Bassett_
(to CROMWELL):
Was he something to do with you, sir?
_Cromwell:_
There is a boy, Seth Tanner, we have a care for.
_Bassett:_
Because I made bold to take him in. He was dazed, as it were--didn't
seem to know where to go.
_Cromwell:_
It was a good man's doing. Where is he?
_Bassett:_
I live under the walls here, as you might say.
_Cromwell:_
Could we see him?
_Bassett:_
Nay--it's no place to take you to. But I'll fetch him if you will. He
doesn't sleep.
_Cromwell:_
Do, then.
(BASSETT goes.)
_Amos:_
It's not my Seth, is it, sir? Not his tongue--and a bloody T. They would
know how he could sing, and he looked like Gabriel in the books.
_Hampden:_
Shall we go, Oliver?
_Cromwell:_
No. Let us all see it out.
_Bridget:_
Father, it's horrible. They don't do things like that, do they?
_Amos:_
Dumb--and a bloody T--and the thumbs. It's some other poor lad.
(BASSETT returns; with him a figure, the hands and ears bound up in
rough thick bandages, and on his forehead a burning red T.
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