Iwillteachyoutocomekissinghonestmen’sdaughterswithouttheirleave，’andwithacurseherushedatme，stickaloft，tothrashme。
Thenforthesecondtimethatdaymyquickbloodboiledinme，andsnatchinguptheSpaniard’sswordthatlayuponthegrassbesideme，Ihelditatthepoint，forthegamewaschanged，andIwhohadfoughtwithcudgelagainstsword，mustnowfightwithswordagainstcudgel。
AndhaditnotbeenthatLilywithaquickcryoffearstruckmyarmfrombeneath，causingthepointoftheswordtopassoverhisshoulder，IbelievetrulythatIshouldthenandtherehavepiercedherfatherthrough，andendedmydaysearlywithanooseaboutmyneck。
’Areyoumad？’shecried。
’Anddoyouthinktowinmebyslayingmyfather？
Throwdownthatsword，Thomas。’
’Asforwinningyou，itseemsthatthereissmallchanceofit；’I
answeredhotly，’butItellyouthis，notforthesakeofallthemaidsupontheearthwillIstandtobebeatenwithasticklikeascullion。’
’AndthereIdonotblameyou，lad，’saidherfather，morekindly。
’Iseethatyoualsohavecouragewhichmayserveyouingoodstead，anditwasunworthyofmetocallyou“pill-box“inmyanger。
Still，asIhavesaid，thegirlisnotforyou，sobegoneandforgetherasbestyoumay，andifyouvalueyourlife，neverletmefindyoutwokissingagain。
Andknowthatto-morrowIwillhaveawordwithyourfatheronthismatter。’
’IwillgosinceImustgo，’Ianswered，’but，sir，Istillhopetolivetocallyourdaughterwife。
Lily，farewelltillthesestormsareoverpast。’
’Farewell，Thomas，’shesaidweeping。
’ForgetmenotandIwillneverforgetmyoathtoyou。’
ThentakingLilybythearmherfatherledheraway。
Ialsowentaway——sad，butnotaltogetherill-pleased。
FornowI
knewthatifIhadwonthefather’sanger，Ihadalsowonthedaughter’sunalterablelove，andlovelastslongerthanwrath，andhereorhereafterwillwinitswayatlength。
WhenIhadgonealittledistanceIrememberedtheSpaniard，whohadbeencleanforgottenbymeinallthisloveandwar，andIturnedtoseekhimanddraghimtothestocks，thewhichIshouldhavedonewithjoy，andbeengladtofindsomeoneonwhomtowreakmywrongs。
ButwhenIcametothespotwhereIhadlefthim，Ifoundthatfatehadbefriendedhimbythehandofafool，fortherewasnoSpaniardbutonlythevillageidiot，BillyMinnsbyname，whostoodstaringfirstatthetreetowhichtheforeignerhadbeenmadefast，andthenatapieceofsilverinhishand。
’Whereisthemanwhowastiedhere，Billy？’Iasked。
’Iknownot，MasterThomas，’heansweredinhisNorfolktalkwhichIwillnotsetdown。
’Half-waytowheresoeverhewasgoingI
shouldsay，measuredbythepaceatwhichheleftwhenonceIhadsethimuponhishorse。’
’Yousethimonhishorse，fool？
Howlongwasthatago？’
’Howlong！
Well，itmightbeonehour，anditmightbetwo。
I’mnoreckoneroftime，thatkeepsitsownscorelikeaninnkeeper，withoutmyhelp。
Lawks！howhedidgallopoff，workingthoselongspursheworerightintotheribsofthehorse。
Andlittlewonder，poorman，andhedaft，notbeingabletospeak，butonlytobleatsheeplike，andfallenuponbyrobbersontheking’sroads，andinbroaddaylight。
ButBillycuthimlooseandcaughthishorseandsethimonit，andgotthispieceforhisgoodcharity。
Lawks！buthewasgladtobegone。
Howhedidgallop！’
’NowyouareabiggerfooleventhanIthoughtyou，BillyMinns，’I
saidinanger。
’Thatmanwouldhavemurderedme，Iovercamehimandmadehimfast，andyouhavelethimgo。’
’Hewouldhavemurderedyou，Master，andyoumadehimfast！
ThenwhydidyounotstoptokeephimtillIcamealong，andwewouldhavehaledhimtothestocks？
Thatwouldhavebeensportandall。
Youcallmefool——butifyoufoundamancoveredwithbloodandhurtstiedtoatree，andhedaftandnotabletospeak，hadyounotcuthimloose？
Well，he’sgone，andthisaloneisleftofhim，’andhespunthepieceintotheair。
Now，seeingthattherewasreasoninBilly’stalk，forthefaultwasmine，Iturnedawaywithoutmorewords，notstraighthomewards，forIwishedtothinkaloneawhileonallthathadcomeaboutbetweenmeandLilyandherfather，butdownthewaywhichrunsacrossthelanetothecrestoftheVineyardHills。
Thesehillsareclothedwithunderwood，inwhichlargeoaksgrowtowithinsometwohundredyardsofthishousewhereIwrite，andthisunderwoodispiercedbypathsthatmymotherlaidout，forshelovedtowalkhere。
OneofthesepathsrunsalongthebottomofthehillbytheedgeofthepleasantriverWaveney，andtheotherahundredfeetormoreaboveandnearthecrestoftheslope，ortospeakmoreplainly，thereisbutonepathshapedliketheletterO，placedthus[symbolofOlayingonitssideomitted]，thecurvedendsofthelettermarkinghowthepathturnsuponthehill-side。
NowIstruckthepathattheendthatisfurthestfromthishouse，andfollowedthathalfofitwhichrunsdownbytheriverbank，havingthewaterononesideofitandthebrushwoodupontheother。
AlongthislowerpathIwandered，myeyesfixedupontheground，thinkingdeeplyasIwent，nowofthejoyofLily’slove，andnowofthesorrowofourpartingandofherfather’swrath。
AsIwent，thuswrappedinmeditation，Isawsomethingwhitelyinguponthegrass，andpusheditasidewiththepointoftheSpaniard’ssword，notheedingit。
Still，itsshapeandfashioningremainedinmymind，andwhenIhadleftitsomethreehundredpacesbehindme，andwasdrawingneartothehouse，thesightofitcamebacktomeasitlaysoftandwhiteuponthegrass，andIknewthatitwasfamiliartomyeyes。
Fromthething，whateveritmightbe，mymindpassedtotheSpaniard’sswordwithwhichIhadtosseditaside，andfromtheswordtothemanhimself。
Whathadbeenhisbusinessinthisparish？——anillonesurely——andwhyhadhelookedasthoughhefearedmeandfallenuponmewhenhelearnedmyname？
Istoodstill，lookingdownward，andmyeyesfelluponfootprintsstampedinthewetsandofthepath。
Oneofthemwasmymother’s。
Icouldhavesworntoitamongathousand，fornootherwomaninthesepartshadsodelicateafoot。
Closetoit，asthoughfollowingafter，wasanotherthatatfirstIthoughtmustalsohavebeenmadebyawoman，itwassonarrow。
ButpresentlyIsawthatthiscouldscarcelybe，becauseofitslength，andmoreover，thatthebootwhichleftitwaslikenonethatIknew，beingcutveryhighattheinstepandverypointedatthetoe。
Then，ofasudden，itcameuponmethattheSpanishstrangerworesuchboots，forI
hadnotedthemwhileItalkedwithhim，andthathisfeetwerefollowingthoseofmymother，fortheyhadtroddenonhertrack，andinsomeplaces，hisalonehadstampedtheirimpressonthesandblottingoutherfootprints。
Then，too，IknewwhatthewhiteragwasthatIhadthrownaside。
Itwasmymother’smantillawhichI
knew，andyetdidnotknow，becauseIalwayssawitsetdaintilyuponherhead。
Inamomentithadcomehometome，andwiththeknowledgeakeenandsickeningdread。
Whyhadthismanfollowedmymother，andwhydidhermantillaliethusupontheground？
IturnedandspedlikeadeerbacktowhereIhadseenthelace。
Allthewaythefootprintswentbeforeme。
NowIwasthere。
Yes，thewrappingwashers，andithadbeenrentasthoughbyarudehand；butwherewasshe？
WithabeatingheartoncemoreIbenttoreadthewritingofthefootsteps。
Heretheyweremixedonewithanother，asthoughthetwohadstoodclosetogether，movingnowthiswayandnowthatinstruggle。
Ilookedupthepath，buttherewerenone。
ThenIcastroundaboutlikeabeagle，firstalongtheriverside，thenupthebank。
Heretheywereagain，andmadebyfeetthatflewandfeetthatfollowed。
Upthebanktheywentfiftyyardsandmore，nowlostwheretheturfwassound，nowseeninsandorloam，tilltheyledtotheboleofabigoak，andwereoncemoremixedtogether，forherethepursuerhadcomeupwiththepursued。
Despairinglyasonewhodreams，fornowIguessedallandgrewmadwithfear，Ilookedthiswayandthat，tillatlengthIfoundmorefootsteps，thoseoftheSpaniard。
Theseweredeepmarked，asofamanwhocarriedsomeheavyburden。
Ifollowedthem；firsttheywentdownthehilltowardstheriver，thenturnedasidetoaspotwherethebrushwoodwasthick。
Inthedeepestoftheclumptheboughs，nowburstingintoleaf，werebentdownwardsasthoughtohidesomethingbeneath。
Iwrenchedthemaside，andthere，gleamingwhitelyinthegatheringtwilightwasthedeadfaceofmymother。
ForawhileIstoodamazedwithhorror，staringdownatthedeadfaceofmybelovedmother。
ThenIstoopedtoliftherandsawthatshehadbeenstabbed，andthroughthebreast，stabbedwiththeswordwhichIcarriedinmyhand。
NowIunderstood。
ThiswastheworkofthatSpanishstrangerwhomIhadmetashehurriedfromtheplaceofmurder，who，becauseofthewickednessofhisheartorforsomesecretreason，hadstriventoslaymealsowhenhelearnedthatIwasmymother’sson。
AndI
hadheldthisdevilinmypower，andthatImightmeetmyMay，I
hadsufferedhimtoescapemyvengeance，who，hadIknownthetruth，wouldhavedealtwithhimasthepriestsofAnahuacdealwiththevictimsoftheirgods。
Iunderstoodandshedtearsofpity，rage，andshame。
ThenIturnedandfledhomewardslikeonemad。
AtthedoorwayImetmyfatherandmybrotherGeoffreyridingupfromBungaymarket，andtherewasthatwrittenonmyfacewhichcausedthemtoaskaswithonevoice:
’Whatevilthinghashappened？’
ThriceIlookedatmyfatherbeforeIcouldspeak，forIfearedlesttheblowshouldkillhim。
ButspeakImustatlast，thoughI
chosethatitshouldbetoGeoffreymybrother。
’OurmotherliesmurderedyonderontheVineyardHill。
ASpanishmanhasdonethedeed，JuandeGarciabyname。’
Whenmyfatherheardthesewordshisfacebecamelividasthoughwithpainoftheheart，hisjawfellandalowmoanissuedfromhisopenmouth。
Presentlyherestedhishanduponthepommelofthesaddle，andliftinghisghastlyfacehesaid:
’WhereisthisSpaniard？
Haveyoukilledhim？’
’No，father。
HechanceduponmeinGrubswell，andwhenhelearnedmynamehewouldhavemurderedme。
ButIplayedquarterstaffwithhimandbeathimtoapulp，takinghissword。’
’Ay，andthen？’
’AndthenIlethimgo，knowingnothingofthedeedhehadalreadywroughtuponourmother。
AfterwardsIwilltellyouall。’
’Youlethimgo，son！
YouletJuandeGarciago！