Forshehadasecretsorrowthatateherheartaway，althoughsheneverspokeofit。
Butonechildwasborntous，andthischilddiedininfancy，norforallherprayersdiditpleaseGodtogiveheranother，andindeedrememberingthewordsofOtomieIdidnotexpectthatitwouldbeso。
NowsheknewwellthatyonderacrosstheseasIhadchildrenwhomIlovedbyanotherwife，andthoughtheywerelongdead，mustalwaysloveunalterably，andthisthoughtwrungherheart。
ThatIhadbeenthehusbandofanotherwomanshecouldforgive，butthatthiswomanshouldhavebornemechildrenwhosememorywasstillsodear，shecouldnotforgetifsheforgaveit，shewhowaschildless。
Whyitwasso，beingbutaman，Icannotsay；forwhocanknowallthemysteryofalovingwoman’sheart？
Butsoitwas。
Once，indeed，wequarrelledonthematter；itwasouronlyquarrel。
Itchancedthatwhenwehadbeenmarriedbuttwoyears，andourbabewassomefewdaysburiedinthechurchyardofthisparishofDitchingham，IdreamedaveryvividdreamasIsleptonenightatmywife’sside。
Idreamedthatmydeadchildren，thefourofthem，forthetallestladboreinhisarmsmyfirstborn，thatinfantwhodiedinthegreatsiege，cametomeastheyhadoftencomewhenI
ruledthepeopleoftheOtomieintheCityofPines，andtalkedwithme，givingmeflowersandkissingmyhands。
Ilookedupontheirstrengthandbeauty，andwasproudatheart，and，inmydream，itseemedasthoughsomegreatsorrowhadbeenliftedfrommymind；asthoughthesedearoneshadbeenlostandnowwerefoundagain。
Ah！whatmiseryisthereliketothismiseryofdreams，thatcanthusgiveusbackourdeadinmockery，andthendeparting，leaveuswithakeenerwoe？
Well，Idreamedon，talkingwithmychildreninmysleepandnamingthembytheirbelovednames，tillatlengthIwoketolookonemptiness，andknowingallmysorrowIsobbedaloud。
Nowitwasearlymorning，andthelightoftheAugustsunstreamedthroughthewindow，butI，deemingthatmywifeslept，stilllayintheshadowofmydreamasitwere，andgroaned，murmuringthenamesofthosewhomImightneverseeagain。
Itchanced，however，thatshewasawake，andhadoverheardthosewordswhichIspokewiththedead，whileIwasyetasleepandafter；andthoughsomeofthistalkwasinthetongueoftheOtomie，themostwasEnglish，andknowingthenamesofmychildrensheguessedthepurportofitall。
Suddenlyshesprangfromthebedandstoodoverme，andtherewassuchangerinhereyesasIhadneverseenbeforenorhaveseensince，nordiditlastlongthen，forpresentlyindeeditwasquenchedintears。
’Whatisit，wife？’Iaskedastonished。
’Itishard，’sheanswered，’thatImustbeartolistentosuchtalkfromyourlips，husband。
Wasitnotenoughthat，whenallmenthoughtyoudead，Iworemyyouthawayfaithfultoyourmemory？
thoughhowfaithfulyouweretomineyouknowbest。
DidIeverreproachyoubecauseyouhadforgottenme，andweddedasavagewomaninadistantland？’
’Never，dearwife，norhadIforgottenyouasyouknowwell；butwhatIwonderatisthatyoushouldgrowjealousnowwhenallcauseisdonewith。’
’Cannotwebejealousofthedead？
Withthelivingwemaycope，butwhocanfightagainstthelovewhichdeathhascompleted，sealingitforeverandmakingitimmortal！
Still，THATIforgiveyou，foragainstthiswomanIcanholdmyown，seeingthatyouwereminebeforeyoubecamehers，andaremineafterit。
Butwiththechildrenitisotherwise。
Theyarehersandyoursalone。
Ihavenopartnorlotinthem，andwhethertheybedeadorlivingIknowwellyoulovethemalways，andwilllovethembeyondthegraveifyoumayfindthemthere。
AlreadyIgrowold，whowaitedtwentyyearsandmorebeforeIwasyourwife，andIshallgiveyounootherchildren。
OneIgaveyou，andGodtookitbacklestIshouldbetoohappy；yetitsnamewasnotonyourlipswiththosestrangenames。
Mydeadbabeislittletoyou，husband！’
Hereshechoked，burstingintotears；nordidIthinkitwelltoanswerherthattherewasthisdifferenceinthematter，thatwhereas，withtheexceptionofoneinfant，thosesonswhomIhadlostwerealmostadolescent，thebabesheborelivedbutsixtydays。
NowwhentheQueenfirstputitinmymindtowritedownthehistoryofmylife，Irememberedthisoutbreakofmybelovedwife；
andseeingthatIcouldwritenotruetaleandleaveoutofitthestoryofherwhowasalsomywife，Montezuma’sdaughter，Otomie，PrincessoftheOtomie，andofthechildrenthatshegaveme，Iletthematterlie。
ForIknewwell，thatthoughwespokeveryrarelyonthesubjectduringallthemanyyearswepassedtogether，stillitwasalwaysinLily’smind；nordidherjealousy，beingofthefinersort，abateatallwithage，butrathergatheredwiththegatheringdays。
ThatIshouldexecutethetaskwithouttheknowledgeofmywifewouldnothavebeenpossible，fortilltheverylastshewatchedovermyeveryact，and，asIverilybelieve，divinedthemostofmythoughts。
Andsowegrewoldtogether，peacefully，andsidebyside，speakingseldomofthatgreatgapinmylifewhenwewerelosttoeachotherandofallthatthenbefell。
Atlengththeendcame。
Mywifediedsuddenlyinhersleepintheeighty-seventhyearofherage。
I
buriedheronthesouthsideofthechurchhere，withsorrowindeed，butnotwithsorrowinconsolable，forIknowthatImustsoonrejoinher，andthoseotherswhomIhaveloved。
Thereinthatwideheavenaremymotherandmysisterandmysons；
therearegreatGuatemocmyfriend，lastoftheemperors，andmanyothercompanionsinwarwhohaveprecededmetopeace；there，too，thoughshedoubtedofit，isOtomiethebeautifulandproud。
IntheheavenwhichItrusttoreach，allthesinsofmyyouthandtheerrorsofmyagenotwithstanding，itistoldusthereisnomarryingandgivinginmarriage；andthisiswell，forIdonotknowhowmywives，Montezuma’sdaughterandthesweetEnglishgentlewoman，wouldagreetogetherwereitotherwise。
Andnowtomytask。
I，ThomasWingfield，wasbornhereatDitchingham，andinthisveryroomwhereIwriteto-day。
ThehouseofmybirthwasbuiltoraddedtoearlyinthereignoftheseventhHenry，butlongbeforehistimesomekindoftenementstoodhere，whichwaslivedinbythekeeperofthevineyards，andknownasGardener’sLodge。
Whetheritchancedthattheclimatewasmorekindlyinoldtimes，ortheskillofthosewhotendedthefieldswasgreater，Idonotknow，butthisattheleastistrue，thatthehillsidebeneathwhichthehousenestles，andwhichoncewasthebankofanarmoftheseaorofagreatbroad，wasavineyardinEarlBigod’sdays。
Longsinceithasceasedtogrowgrapes，thoughthenameofthe’Earl’sVineyard’stillclingstoallthatslopeoflandwhichliesbetweenthishouseandacertainhealth-givingspringthatbubblesfromthebankthehalfofamileaway，inthewatersofwhichsickfolkscometobatheevenfromNorwichandLowestoft。
Butshelteredasitisfromtheeastwinds，tothishourtheplacehastheadvantagethatgardensplantedhereareearlierbyfourteendaysthananyothersinthecountryside，andthatamanmaysitinthemcoatlessinthebittermonthofMay，whenonthetopofthehill，nottwohundredpaceshence，hemustshiverinajacketofotterskins。
TheLodge，forsoithasalwaysbeennamed，initsbeginningshavingbeenbutafarmhouse，facestothesouth-west，andisbuiltsolowthatitmightwellbethoughtthatthedampfromtheriverWaveney，whichrunsthroughthemarshescloseby，wouldriseinit。
Butthisisnotso，forthoughinautumntheroke，ashereinNorfolkwenamegroundfog，hangsaboutthehouseatnightfall，andinseasonsofgreatfloodthewaterhasbeenknowntopourintothestablesatthebackofit，yetbeingbuiltonsandandgravelthereisnohealthierhabitationintheparish。
Fortherestthebuildingisofstud-workandredbrick，quaintandmellowlooking，withmanycornersandgablesthatinsummerarehalfhiddeninrosesandothercreepingplants，andwithitsoutlookonthemarshesandthecommonwherethelightsvarycontinuallywiththeseasonsandevenwiththehoursoftheday，ontheredroofsofBungaytown，andonthewoodedbankthatstretchesroundtheEarshamlands；thoughtherearemanylarger，tomymindthereisnonepleasanterintheseparts。
HereinthishouseIwasborn，andheredoubtlessIshalldie，andhavingspokenofitatsomelength，aswearewonttodoofspotswhichlongcustomhasendearedtous，Iwillgoontotellofmyparentage。
First，then，Iwouldsetoutwithacertainpride——forwhoofusdoesnotloveanancientnamewhenwehappentobeborntoit？——
thatIamsprungfromthefamilyoftheWingfieldsofWingfieldCastleinSuffolk，thatliessometwohoursonhorsebackfromthisplace。
LongagotheheiressoftheWingfieldsmarriedaDelaPole，afamilyfamousinourhistory，thelastofwhom，Edmund，EarlofSuffolk，losthisheadfortreasonwhenIwasyoung，andthecastlepassedtotheDelaPoleswithher。
ButsomeoffshootsoftheoldWingfieldstocklingeredintheneighbourhood，perchancetherewasabarsinisterontheircoatofarms，Iknownotanddonotcaretoknow；attheleastmyfathersandIareofthisblood。
Mygrandfatherwasashrewdman，moreofayeomanthanasquire，thoughhisbirthwasgentle。
Heitwaswhoboughtthisplacewiththelandsroundit，andgatheredupsomefortune，mostlybycarefulmarryingandliving，forthoughhehadbutonesonhewastwicemarried，andalsobytradingincattle。
Nowmygrandfatherwasgodly-mindedeventosuperstition，andstrangeasitmayseem，havingonlyoneson，nothingwouldsatisfyhimbutthattheboyshouldbemadeapriest。
Butmyfatherhadlittleleaningtowardsthepriesthoodandlifeinamonastery，thoughatallseasonsmygrandfatherstrovetoreasonitintohim，sometimeswithwordsandexamples，atotherswithhisthickcudgelofholly，thatstillhangsovertheingleinthesmallersitting-
room。
TheendofitwasthattheladwassenttotheprioryhereinBungay，wherehisconductwasofsuchnaturethatwithinayearthepriorprayedhisparentstotakehimbackandsethiminsomewayofsecularlife。
Notonly，sosaidtheprior，didmyfathercausescandalbyhisactions，breakingoutoftheprioryatnightandvisitingdrinkinghousesandotherplaces；but，suchwasthesumofhiswickedness，hedidnotscrupletoquestionandmakemockoftheverydoctrinesoftheChurch，allegingeventhattherewasnothingsacredintheimageoftheVirginMarywhichstoodinthechancel，andshutitseyesinprayerbeforeallthecongregationwhenthepriestelevatedtheHost。
’Therefore，’saidtheprior，’I
prayyoutakebackyourson，andlethimfindsomeotherroadtothestakethanthatwhichrunsthroughthegatesofBungayPriory。’
Nowatthisstorymygrandfatherwassoenragedthathealmostfellintoafit；thenrecovering，hebethoughthimofhiscudgelofholly，andwouldhaveusedit。
Butmyfather，whowasnownineteenyearsofageandverystoutandstrong，twisteditfromhishandandflungitfullfiftyyards，sayingthatnomanshouldtouchhimmorewereheahundredtimeshisfather。
Thenhewalkedaway，leavingthepriorandmygrandfatherstaringateachother。
Nowtoshortenalongtale，theendofthematterwasthis。
Itwasbelievedbothbymygrandfatherandthepriorthatthetruecauseofmyfather’scontumacywasapassionwhichhehadconceivedforagirlofhumblebirth，amiller’sfairdaughterwhodweltatWaingfordMills。
Perhapstherewastruthinthisbelief，orperhapstherewasnone。
Whatdoesitmatter，seeingthatthemaidmarriedabutcheratBecclesanddiedyearssinceatthegoodageofninetyandfive？
Buttrueorfalse，mygrandfatherbelievedthetale，andknowingwellthatabsenceisthesurestcureforlove，heenteredintoaplanwiththepriorthatmyfathershouldbesenttoamonasteryatSevilleinSpain，ofwhichtheprior’sbrotherwasabbot，andtherelearntoforgetthemiller’sdaughterandallotherworldlythings。
Whenthiswastoldtomyfatherhefellintoitreadilyenough，beingayoungmanofspiritandhavingagreatdesiretoseetheworld，otherwise，however，thanthroughthegratingsofamonasterywindow。
SotheendofitwasthathewenttoforeignpartsinthecareofapartyofSpanishmonks，whohadjourneyedheretoNorfolkonapilgrimagetotheshrineofourLadyofWalsingham。
Itissaidthatmygrandfatherweptwhenhepartedwithhisson，feelingthatheshouldseehimnomore；yetsostrongwashisreligion，orratherhissuperstition，thathedidnothesitatetosendhimaway，thoughfornoreasonsavethathewouldmortifyhisownloveandflesh，offeringhissonforasacrificeasAbrahamwouldhaveofferedIsaac。
Butthoughmyfatherappearedtoconsenttothesacrifice，asdidIsaac，yethismindwasnotaltogethersetonaltarsandfaggots；inshort，ashehimselftoldmeinafteryears，hisplanswerealreadylaid。
ThusitchancedthatwhenhehadsailedfromYarmouthayearandsixmonths，therecamealetterfromtheabbotofthemonasteryinSevilletohisbrother，thepriorofSt。Mary’satBungay，sayingthatmyfatherhadfledfromthemonastery，leavingnotraceofwherehehadgone。
Mygrandfatherwasgrievedatthistidings，butsaidlittleaboutit。
Twomoreyearspassedaway，andtherecameothernews，namely，thatmyfatherhadbeencaptured，thathehadbeenhandedovertothepoweroftheHolyOffice，astheaccursedInquisitionwasthennamed，andtorturedtodeathatSeville。