her, did you
not tell me what you feared of this Spaniard? I heard some loose talk
only and gave little thought to it, my mind being full of other things.
And now I will say something. You called down God's curse upon me,
father, till such time as I should find this murderer and finish what I
had begun. So be it! Let God's curse rest upon me till I do find him. I
am young, but I am quick and strong, and so soon as may be I start for
Spain to hunt him there till I shall run him down or know him to be
dead. If you will give me money to help me on my quest, so be it--if not
I go without. I swear before God and by my mother's spirit that I will
neither rest nor stay till with the very sword that slew her, I have
avenged her blood upon her murderer or know him dead, and if I suffer
myself to be led astray from the purpose of this oath by aught that is,
then may a worse end than hers overtake me, may my soul be rejected in
heaven, and my name be shameful for ever upon the earth!'

Thus I swore in my rage and anguish, holding up my hand to heaven that I
called upon to witness the oath.

My father looked at me keenly. 'If that is your mind, son Thomas, you
shall not lack for money. I would go myself, for blood must be wiped out
with blood, but I am too broken in my health; also I am known in Spain
and the Holy Office would claim me there. Go, and my blessing go with
you. It is right that you should go, for it is through your folly that
our enemy has escaped us.'

'Yes, it is right that he should go,' said Geoffrey.

'You say that because you wish to be rid of me, Geoffrey,' I answered
hotly, 'and you would be rid of me because you desire to take my place
at the side of a certain maid. Follow your nature and do as you will,
but if you would outwit an absent man no good shall come to you of it.'

'The girl is to him who can win her,' he said.

'The girl's heart is won already, Geoffrey. You may buy her from her
father but you can never win her heart, and without a heart she will be
but a poor prize.'

'Peace! now is no time for such talk of love and maids,' said my father,
'and listen. This is the tale of the Spanish murderer and your mother.
I have said nothing of it heretofore, but now it must out. When I was a
lad it happened that I also went to Spain because my father willed it. I
went to a monastery at Seville, but I had no liking for monks and their
ways, and I broke out from the monastery. For a year or more I made