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。