When my grandfather heard this he wept,
and bemoaned himself that his folly in forcing one into the Church who
had no liking for that path, had brought about the shameful end of his
only son. After that date also he broke his friendship with the prior of
St. Mary's at Bungay, and ceased his offerings to the priory. Still he
did not believe that my father was dead in truth, since on the last day
of his own life, that ended two years later, he spoke of him as a living
man, and left messages to him as to the management of the lands which
now were his.
And in the end it became clear that this belief was not ill-founded, for
one day three years after the old man's death, there landed at the port
of Yarmouth none other than my father, who had been absent some eight
years in all. Nor did he come alone, for with him he brought a wife,
a young and very lovely lady, who afterwards was my mother. She was a
Spaniard of noble family, having been born at Seville, and her maiden
name was Donna Luisa de Garcia.
Now of all that befell my father during his eight years of wandering I
cannot speak certainly, for he was very silent on the matter, though I
may have need to touch on some of his adventures. But I know it is true
that he fell under the power of the Holy Office, for once when as a
little lad I bathed with him in the Elbow Pool, where the river Waveney
bends some three hundred yards above this house, I saw that his breast
and arms were scored with long white scars, and asked him what had
caused them.
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