I was betrayed into their hands by him whom I name the chief of the devils, though he is younger than I am by three years, and their pincers and hot irons left these marks upon me.
Aye, and they would have burnt me alive also, only I escaped, thanks to your mother--but such tales are not for a little lad's hearing; and see you never speak of them, Thomas, for the Holy Office has a long arm.

You are half a Spaniard, Thomas, your skin and eyes tell their own tale, but whatever skin and eyes may tell, let your heart give them the lie.

Keep your heart English, Thomas; let no foreign devilments enter there.

Hate all Spaniards except your mother, and be watchful lest her blood should master mine within you.' I was a child then, and scarcely understood his words or what he meant by them.

Afterwards I learned to understand them but too well.