The watchman and southron. (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, July 25, 1894, Image 1
Tmm suMTKB watchman, K?t?bu*i??d Aprii, 185?. "Be Just and Fear not?Let all the Ends thou Aims't at, be thy Country's, thy God's and Truth's." the tkdk southron, Egtabiiehed June, 1266
Consolidated Aug. 2,1881.
SUMTER, S. C, WEDNESDAY, JULY 25, 1894.
New Series?Vol. XUJ. No. 51.
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? Know , Master Thomas," he an
swered in his Norfolk talk, which I will not
eet down. "Half way to wheresoever he
was going, I should say, measured by the
pace at which he left when once I had sat
him trpon his horse. Lawks, but he was
glad to be gone! How he did gallop!"
"Now, you are a bigger fool even than I
thought you, Billy Minns," I said in an
ger.' ''That man- would have murdered
: me. I overcame him and made him fast,
I and you hove let him go. "
' would have murdered you, master,
and you made him fast! Well, he's gone,
land this alone is left of him." And he
spun the piece into the air.
: _lXow. seeing, that there,, was, reason in,
Billy's" talk, for the fault" was* mine", I
turned away without more words, not
straight homeward, for I wished to think
alone awhile on all that had come about
between me and Lily and her father, but
down the way which runs across the lane
to the crest of the Vineyard hills. These
hills are clothed with underwood, in which
large oaks grow to within some 200 yards
of this house where I write, and this un
derwood is pierced bypaths that my moth
er laid out, for she loved to walk here.
One of these paths runs along the bottom
of the hill by the edge of the pleasant
river Waveney and the other a hundred
feet or more above and near the crest of
the slope,"or, to speak more plainly, there
is but one path, shaped like the letter 0,
placed longitudinally, the curved ends of
the letter marking how the path' turns
upoiith? fifils?d?.
Now^ I struck the path at the end that
is farthest from this house and followed
that half of it which runs" down by ?he
river bank, having the water on ?ac sido
of it and the brushwood upon the other.
Along: this lower path I wandered, my
eyes fixed upon the ground, thinking deep
ly as I. went, now of the joy of Lily's lovo
and now of the sorrow of our parting and
of her father's wrath, and my eyes -fell
upon footprints in the wet sand of the
path. One of them was my mother's. I
could have sworn to it among a thousand,
for no other woman in these parts had so
delicate a foot. Close to it, as though fol
lowing after, was another that at first I
thought must also have been made by a
woman?it was so narrow. But presently
I saw that this could scarcely be, because
of its length, and, moreover, that the boot
which left it was like none that I knew,
being cut very high at the instep and very
pointed at the toe.
Then of a sudden it came upon me that
the Spanish stranger wore such boots, for
I had noted them while I talked with him,
and that his feet were following those of
my mother, for they had trodden on her
track, and in some places his alone had
stamped their impress on the sand, blot
ting out her footprints.
Here they were mixed one with another,
as though the two had stood close togeth
sr, moving now this way and now that in
struggle. I looked up the path, but there
were none. Then. I cast round about like
a beagle, first along the river side, then
up the bank. Here they were again, and
made by feet that flew and feet that fol
lowed. Up the bank they went 50 yards
and more, now lost where the turf was
sound, now seen in sand or loam, till they
led to the bole of a big oak and were once
more mixed together, for here the pursuer
had come up with the pursued.
Despairingly as one who dreams, for
now I guessed all and grew mad with fear,
I looked this way and that; till at length
I found more footsteps?those of the Span
iard. These were deep marked, as of a
man who carried somo heavy burden. I
followed them. T?tz? they went down the
hill toward the "^iver, then turned aside to
a spot when, the brushwood was thick
In the deepest of the clump the boughs,
now bursting into leaf, were bent down
ward as though to hide something beneath.
I wrenched them aside, and there, gleam
ing whftely in the gathering twilight, was
the dead face of my mother] ;?:
GHAP3EER M
. THOMAS SWEABS AX OATH.
For awhile stood amazed t?ith horror,
staring down at the dead face of my be
loved mother. Then I stooped to lift her
and saw that she had been slabbed, and
through the.breast?stabbed' with tho
sword vrhich I carried in. my hand.
Now I urii?HBstood. This .was the work
of that Spanish' stranger whom I had met
as he hume^.rf^om. the placeof murder,
who, becauseOf the wickedness of his heart
For awhile I stood amazed with horror.
or for some secret reason, had striven to
slay mo also when ho learned that I was
my mother's son. And I had held this
devil in my j>owcr, and that I might meet
my May I had suffered him to escape my
vengeance, whereas had I known the truth
I would have dealt with him as the priests
of Anahuac deal with tho victims of their
gods. I understood and shed tears of pity,
rage and shame. Then I turned and fled
homeward like one mad.
At the doorway I met my father and my
brother Geoffrey riding up from Bungay
market, and there was that written on my
face which caused them to ask as with ono
voice:
"What evil thing has happened?"
Thrice I looked at my father Tjcfore I
could speak, fo? I feared lest the blow
should killL.hbn.._Butspeak I mustatjast,
though I chose thai it slioulu "be to (j'c?f
frey, my brother. 4 * Our mother lies mur
dered yonder on the Vineyard hilL A
Spanish man has done the deed. Juan do
Garcia by name. " When my father heard
these words, his face became livid as
though with pain of the heart, his jaw fell,
and a low moan issued from his open
mouth. Presently he rested his hand upon
the pommel of the saddle, and lifting his
ghastly face he said:
*'Where is this Spaniard? Have you
killed him?"
"No, father. He chanced upon me in
Grubswell, and when he learned my name
he would have murdered me. But I played
quarter staff with him and beat him to a
pulp, taking his sword. "
"Aye, and then?"
41 And then I let him go, knowing noth
ing of the deed he had already wrought
upon our . mother. Afterward I will tell
youalL"
"You let him go. son? You let Jean do
Garcia go! Then, Thomas, may the curse
of God zest upon you till you find him and
finish that which you began today."
"Spare to curse me, father, who am ac
cursed by my own conscience. Turn your
horses rather and ride for Yarmouth, for
there his ship lies, and thither he has gone
with two hours* start. Perhaps you may
still trap him before he sets sail. "
Without another word my father and
brother wheeled their horses round and de
parted at full gallop into the gloom of the
gathering night.
They rode so fiercely that, their horses
being good, they came to the gates of Yar
mouth in little more than 1)4 hours, and
that is fast riding. But the bird w??
flown. They tracked him to the quay and
foun^^ha^Jia-had, shipped awhile before
In a boat which was in: waiting- Ibr" Mm
and passed to his vessel, which lay in the
roads at anchor, but with the most of her
canvas set Instantly she sailed and now
was lost in the night. Then my. father
caused notice to be given that he would
pay a reward of 200 pieces in gold to any
ehip that would capture the Spaniard, and
two started on the quest, but they did not
find her that before morning was far on
her way across the sea.
At length the morning came, and with
it my father and brother, who returned
from Yarmouth on hired. horses, for their
own were spent. In the afternoon als?
news followed them that the ships which
had put to sea on the track , of the Span
iard had been driven back by bad weather,
havinjLseen nothing of him.
"2??w x TO?a ?il the story of my dealings
with the murderer of my mother, keeping
nothing back, and I must bear my father's
bitter anger because,, knowing that my
mother was in dread of a Spaniard, I hod
suffered my reason to be led astray by my
desire to win speech with my love. Nor
did I meet-with any comfort from my
brother Geoffrey, who was fierce against
me because he learned that I hod not
pleaded in vain with the maid whom he
desired for himself. But he said nothing
of this reason; also that no drop might
be lacking in my cup, Squire Bozard, who
came with many other neighbors to view
the corpse and offer sympathy with my fa
ther in his loss, told him at the same time
that he took it ill that I should woo his
daughter against his wish, and that if I
continued in this course it would strain
their ancient friendship. Thus I was hit
on every side, by sorrow for my mother
whom I hod loved tenderly, by longing
for my dear whom I might not see, by self
reproach because I had let the Spaniard go
when I held him fast, and by the anger of
my father and my brother. Indeed those
days were so dark and bitter, for I was at
the age when shame and sorrow sting their
sharpest, that I wished that I were dead
beside my mother. One comfort reached
me indeed, a message from Lily, sent by a
servant girl whom she trusted, giving me
her dear love and bidding me to be of good
cheer.
At length come the day of burial, and
my mother, wrapped in fair white robes,
was laid to rest in the chancel of the
church at Ditchingham, where my father
has long been set beside her, hard by the
brass effigies that mark the burying place
of Lily's forefather, his wife and many of
their children. This funeral was the sad
dest of sights, for the bitterness of my fa
ther's grief broke from him in sobs, and
my sister Mary swooned away in my arms.
Indeed there were few dry eyes in all that
church, for my mother, notwithstanding
her foreign birth, was much loved because
of her gentle ways and the goodness of her
heart. But it came to an end. and the
noble Spanish lady and English wife was
left to her long sleep in the ancient church,
where she shall rest on when her tragic
story and her very name are forgotten
among men. indeed this is likely to be
soon, for I am the last of the Wingfields
alive in theso parts, though my sister
Mary has left descendants of another name,
to whom my lands and fortune go except
for certain gifts to the poor of Bungay
and of Ditchingham.
When it was over, I went back home.
My father was sitting in the front room
well nigh beside himself with grief, and
by him was my brother. Presently he be
gan to assail me with bitter words bccaiise
I had let the murderer go when God gave
him into my hand.
''You forget, father," sneered Geoffrey.
"Thomas wcoes a.maid, aneli*; was more to
him to hold her in his arms than to keep
his mother's murderer safely. But by this
it seems he has killed two birds with one
stone?he has suffered the Spanish devil
to escape when he knew our mother feared
the coming of a Spaniard, and he has made
enmitybetwoeh us and Squire Bozard, out
good neighbor, who, strangely enough,
does not favor his wooing. "
"It is so," said my father. "Thomas,
your mother's blood is on your hands. "
I listened and could bear this goading
injustice no longer.
"It is false," I said. "I say it even to
my father. The man had killed my moth
er before I met him riding to seek his ship
at Yarmouth and having lost his way.
How then is her blood upon my hands?
As for my. wooing of Lily Bozard, that is
my matter, brother, and not yours, though
perhaps you wish that it was yours and
not mine. Why, father, 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, fa
ther, till such time as I should find this
murderer and finish what I had begun.
So be it! Let God's curse rest upon mo
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 with
oiit^_ I swear before God^dbymy moth- '
?f's spirit that Tw?T neither resr nor stay
till, with the very sword that slew her, I
have avenged her blood upon her murder
er or know him dead, and if I suffer my
self 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 forever upon the earth!"
Thus I swore in my rage and anguish,
holding up my hand to heaven that I call
ed 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 bless
ing 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,
uand 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, Geof
frey. You may buy her from her father,
but you can never win her heart, and with
out 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 mur
derer and your mother. I have said noth
ing 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 my living as best I
might, for I feared to return to England
as a runaway. Still I made a living, and
not a bad one, now in this way and now in
that, but, though I am ashamed to say it.
mostly by gaming, at which I had great
luck. One night I met this man Juan de
Garcia?for in his hate he gave you his
true name when he would have stabbed
yon?at play. Even then he had an evil
fame, though he was scarcely more than a
lad, but he was. handsome in person, set
high in birth and of a pleasing manner. It
chanced that he won of me at the dice, and
being in a good humor he took me to visit
at the house of his aunt, his uncle's widow,
a lady of Seville. This aunt had one child,
a daughter, and that daughter was your
mother. Now, your mother, Luisa de
Garcia, was affianced to her cousin, Juan
de Garcia, not with her own will indeed,
for the contract had been signed when she
was only 8 years old. Still it was binding
?more binding indeed than in this coun
try, being a marriage in all except in fact.
But those women who are thus bound for
the most part bear no wife's love in their
hearts, and so it was with your mother.
Indeed she both hated and feared her cous
in Juan, though I think that he loved her
more than anything on earth, and by one
pretext and another she contrived to bring
him to an agreement that no marriage
should be celebrated till she was full 20
years of age. But the colder she was to
the more was he inflamed with desire
to win her and also her possessions, which
were not small, for like all Spaniards he
was passionate and like most gamesters
and men of evil life much in want of
money.
"Now, to be brief, from the first moment
that your mother and I set eyes on each
other we loved one another, and it was our
one desire to meet as often as might be,
and in this we had no great difficulty, for
her mother also feared and hated Juan de
Garcia, her' nephew by marriage, and
would have seen her daughter clear of him
if possible The end of it was that I told
my love, and a plot was made between us
that we should fly to England. But all
this had not escaped the ears of Juan,
who had spies in the household and was
jealous and revengeful as only a Spaniard
can be. First he tried to be rid of me by
challenging me to a duel, but we were
parted before we could draw swords. Then
he hired bravos to murder me as I walked
the streets at night, but I wore a chain
shirt beneath my doublet, and their dag
gers broke upon it, and in place of being
slain I slew one of them Twice baffled,
De Garcia was not defeated Fight and
murder had failed, but another and surer
means remained I know not how, but
he had won some clew to the history of
my life and of how I had broken out from
the monastery. It was left to him, there
fore, to denounce mc to the holy office as a
renegade and an infidel, and this he did
one night. It was the night before the day
when we should have taken ship. I was
sitting with your mother and her mother
in their house at Seville when six cowled
men entered and seized me without a word.
When I prayed to know their purpose, they
gave no other answer than to hold a cru
cifix before my eyes. Then I knew why I
was taken, and the women ceased cling
ing to mo and fell back sobbing. Secretly
and silently I was hurried away to the
dungeons of the holy office, but of all that
befell me there I will not stop to telL
a Twice I was racked, once I was seared
with hot irons, thrice I was flogged with
wire whips, and all this while I was fed
on food such as wo should scarcely offer a
dog here in England At length, my of
fense of having escaped from a monastery
and sundry blasphemies, so called, being
proved against me, I was condemned to
death by fire.
"Then at last, when after along year of
torment and of horror I had abandoned
hope and resigned myself to die, help came.
Upon the eve of the day upon which I was
to be consumed by flame the chief of my
tormentors entered tho dungeon where I
lay on straw, and embracing mc bade mo
be of good cheer, for the church had tak
en pity on my youth and given mo my
freedom. At first I laughed wildly, for I
thought that this was but another tor
ment, and not till I was freed of my fet
ters, clothed in decent garments and set
at midnight without the prison gates
would I believe that so good a thing had
befallen me through the hand of God I
stood, weak and wondering, outsido the
gates, not knowing where to fly, and as I
stood a woman glided up to me wrapped
in a dark cloak, who whispered'Come.'
That woman was your mother. Sho had
learned of my fate from the boasting of
De Garcia and set herself to save mc.
Thrice her plans failed, but at length,
through the help of some cunning agent,
gold won what was denied to justice and
to mercy, and my life and liberty wer<>
bought with a very great sum.
VThat same night we were married and
fled for Cadiz, your motFer^ancT I7 but
not ber mother, who was bedridden with
a sickness. For my sake, your beloved
mother abandoned her people, what re
mained to her of her fortune after paying
the price of my life, and her country, so
strong is the love of woman. All had been
made ready, for at Cadiz lay an English
ship?the Mary of Bristol?in which pas
sage was taken for us. But the Mary was
delayed in port by a contrary wind, which
blew so strongly that, notwithstanding his
desire to save us, her master dared not
take the sea. Two days and a night we
lay in the harbor, fearing all things, not
without cause, and yet most happy in each
other's love. Now, those who had charge
of me in the dungeon had given out that
I had escaped by the help of my master
the devil, and I was searched for through
out the countryside. De Garcia also", find
ing that his cousin and affianced wife was
missing, guessed that we two were not far
apart It was his cunning, sharpened by
jealousy and hate, that dogged us down
step by step till at length he found us.
"On the morning of the third day, the
gale having abated, the anchor of the Mary
was got home, and she swung out into
the tideway. As she came round and while
the seamen were making ready to hoist
the sails a boat carrying some 20 soldiers
and followed by two other boats shot
alongside and summoned the captain to
heave to, that his ship might be boarded
and searched under a warrant from the
holy office. It chanced that I was on deck
at the time, and suddenly, as I prepared to
hide myself below, a man, in whom I knew
De Garcia himself, stood up and called out
that I was the escaped heretic whom they
sought. Fearing lest his ship should be
boarded and he himself thrown into prison
with the rest of his crew, the captain
would then have surrendered me. But I,
desperate with fear, toro my clothes from
my body and showed the cruel scars that
marked it
" * You are an Englishman,' I cried to
the sailor, 'and will you deliver me to
those foreign devils who am of your blood?
Look at their handiwork. ' And I pointed
to the half healed scars left by the redhot
pinchers. 'If you give me up, you send me
back to more of this torment and to death
by burning. Pity my wife if yon will not
pity me, or if you will pity neither then
lend me a sword that by death I may save
myself from torture.'
"Then one of the seamen, a Southwold
man who had known my father, called
out: 'By God, I for one will stand by you,
Thomas Wingfield! If they want yon and
your sweet lady, they must kill mo first*
And seizing a how from the rack he drew
it out of its case and strung it, and setting
an arrow on the string, he pointed it at the
Spaniards in the boot
"Then the others broke into shouts of:
" 'If you want any man from among us,
come aboard and take him, yon torturing
devils, ' and the like.
"Seeing where the heart of his crew lay,
the captain found courage in his turn. He
modo no answer to the Spaniards, but bade
half of the men hoist the sails with all
speed and the rest make ready to keep off
the soldiers should they seek to board us.
"By now the other two boats had come
up and fastened onto us with their hooks.
One man climbed into the chains and
thence to the deck, and I knew him for a
priest of the holy office, one of those who
had stood by while I was tormented. Then
I grew mad at the thought of all that I
had suffered, while that devil watched,
bidding them lay on for the love of God.
Snatching the bow from the hand of the
Southwold seaman, I drew the arrow to
its head and loosed. It did not miss its
mark, for like you, Thomas, I was skilled
with the use of the bow, and he dived back
into the sea with on English yard shaft in
his heart.
"After that they tried to board us no
more, though they shot at us with arrows,
wounding one man. The captain called
to us to lay down our bows and take cover
behind the bulwarks, for by now the sails
began to draw. Then Do Garcia stood up
in the boat and cursed me and my wife.
" will find you yet ' he screamed, with
many Spanish oaths and foul words. 'If
I wait for 20 years, I will be avenged upon
you and all you lova Be assured of this,
Luisa de Garcia, hide where you will, I
shall find you, and when we meet you shall
come with me for so long as I will keep
you, or that will be the hour of your death. '
"Then we sailed away for England, and
the boats fell astern.
"My sons, this is the story of my youth
and howl came to wed your mother whom
I have buried today Juan de Garcia has
kept his word."
"Yet it seems strange, " said my broth
er, "that after all these years ho should
have murdered her thus whom you say he
loved. Surely even the cvilcst of men had
shrunk from such a deed. "
"There is little that is strange about it, "
answered my father. "How can we know
what words were spoken between them be
fore he stabbed her? Doubtless he told
some of them when he cried to Thomas
that now they would see what truth there
was in prophecies. What did Dc Garcia
swear years since??that she should come
with him or he would kill her. Your moth
er was still beautiful, Geoffrey, and he
may have given her 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
6peak. "Then there would have lived a
devil less in the world today, and I should
have been spared a long journey."
Little did I know how long that journey
would bel
CHAPTER V.
GOODBY, SWEETHEART.
Within 12 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 100 tons burden, and carried wool and
other goods outward, proposing 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 ?50
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 150 English
pounds, and further to assist me in any
way that was possible.
Now, the ship Adventuress was to sail
on the 3d day of June. Already it was
the 1st of that month, and that evening I
must ride to Yarmouth, whither my bag
gage had gone already. _ Except one, my
farewells" were mad?T?nd 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 moth
er'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 serv
ing men had orders to thrust mc 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 goodby. In my grief and per
plexity I spoke to my father, telling him
how the matter stood and asking his help.
' go hence," I said, "to avenge oui
common loss and if need be to give my life
for the honor of our name. Aid mein
this."
"My neighbor Bozard means his daugh
ter for your brother Geoffrey and not for
you, Thomas," he answered, ''and a man
may do what he wills with his own. Still
I will help you if I can. At the least, he
cannot drive me from his door. Bid them
bring horses, and we will ride to the hall. ' '
Within the half of an hour we were there,
and my father asked for speech with the
master. The serving man looked at me
askance, remembering his orders; still he
ushered us into the justice'room, where the
squire sat drinking ale.
''Good morrow to you, neighbor," said
the squire. "You are welcome here, but you
bring one with you who is not welcome,
though he be your son. "
"I bring him for the last time, friend
Bozard. Listen to his request, then grant
or refuse it as you will, but if you refuse
it.it will not bind us closer. The lad rides
tonight to take ship for Spain to seek that
man who has murdered his mother. He
goes of his own free will, because after the
doing of the deed it was he who unwit
tingly suffered the murderer to escape, and
it is well that he should go. "
"He is a young hound to run such a
quarry to earth and in a strange coun
try," said the squire. "Still I like his
spirit and wish him welL What would
he of me?"
"Leave to bid farewell to your daugh
ter. I know that his suit does not please
you and cannot wonder at it, and for my
own part I think it too early of him to set
his fancy in the way of marriage. But if
he would see tibe maid it can do no harm,
for such harm as there is has been done
already. New for your answer. ' '
Squire Bozard thought awhile, then
said:
"The lad is a brave lad, though he shall
be no son-in-lr.w of mine He is going far
and mayhap will return no more, and I
do not wish i*>at he should think unkind
ly of me whea I am dead. Go without,
Thomas Wingfield, and stand under yon
der beech. Lily shall join you there, and
you may speak with her for the half of an
hour?no meni. See to it that you keep
within sight of the window. Nay, no
thanks?go before I change my mind."
So I went and waited under the beech
with a beating heart, and presently Lily
glided up to me, a more welcome sight to
my eyes than any angel out of heaven.
{ And indeed I doubt if an angel could have
been more fair than she, or more good and
> gentle
"Ch, Thomas," she whispered when I
I had greeted her, "is this true that you sail
i over sea to seek the Spaniard?"
! "I sail to seek the Spaniard and to find
; him and to kill him when he is found. It
! was to come to you, Lily, that I let him
go. Now I must let you go to come to
I him Nay, do not weep. I have sworn to
j do it, and were I to break my oath I should
! be dishonored."
i "And because of this oath of yours 1
must be widowed, Thomas, before I am a
wife? You go, and I shall never see you
more."
"Who can say, my sweet? My father
went over seas and came hack safe, having
passed through many perils."
"Yes, he came back ami?net alone.
You are young, Thomas, and in far coun
tries there are ladies great and fair, and
how shall I hold my own in your heart
against them, I being so far awr.y?"
"I swear to you, Lily"
"Nay, Thomas, swear no or.ths lest you
should add to your sins by breaking thorn.
Yet, love, forget mc not who shall forget
"Oh, Thomas," she whispered.
you never. Perhaps?oh, it wrings my
heart to say it?this is our last meeting on
the earth. If so, then we must hope to
meet in heaven. At the leastv be sure of
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