id de Garcia swear
years since?--that she should come with him or he would kill her. Your
mother was still beautiful, Geoffrey, and he may have given her choice
between flight and death. Seek to know no more, son'--and suddenly my
father hid his face in his hands and broke into sobs that were dreadful
to hear.

'Would that you had told us this tale before, father,' I said so soon
as I could speak. 'Then there would have lived a devil the less in the
world to-day, and I should have been spared a long journey.'

Little did I know how long that journey would be!

CHAPTER VI

GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART

Within twelve days of the burial of my mother and the telling of the
story of his marriage to her by my father, I was ready to start upon my
search. As it chanced a vessel was about to sail from Yarmouth to Cadiz.
She was named the 'Adventuress,' of one hundred tons burden, and carried
wool and other goods outwards, purposing to return with a cargo of wine
and yew staves for bows. In this vessel my father bought me a passage.
Moreover, he gave me fifty pounds in gold, which was as much as I would
risk upon my person, and obtained letters from the Yarmouth firm of
merchants to their agents in Cadiz, in which they were advised to
advance me such sums as I might need up to a total of one hundred and
fifty English pounds, and further to assist me in any way that was
possible.

Now the ship 'Adventuress' was to sail on the third day of June.
Already it was the first of that month, and that evening I must ride to
Yarmouth, whither my baggage had gone already. Except one my farewells
were made, and yet that was the one I most wished to make. Since the day
when we had sworn our troth I had gained no sight of Lily except once
at my mother's burial, and then we had not spoken. Now it seemed that I
must go without any parting word, for her father had sent me notice that
if I came near the Hall his serving men had orders to thrust me from the
door, and this was a shame that I would not risk. Yet it was hard that I
must go upon so long a journey, whence it well might chance I should not
return, and bid her no goodbye. In my grief and perplexity I spoke to my
father, telling him how the matter stood and asking his help.

'I go hence,' I said, 'to avenge our common loss, and if need be to give
my life for the honour of our name. Aid me then in this.'

'My neighbour Bozard means his daughter for your brother Geoffrey, and
not fo