'I only wished to know the name of one who had done me a courtesy, but who it seems is not so courteous as I deemed.' And he shook his horse's reins.
'I am not ashamed of my name,' I said.

'It has been an honest one so far, and if you wish to know it, it is Thomas Wingfield.' 'I thought it,' he cried, and as he spoke his face grew like the face of a fiend.

Then before I could find time even to wonder, he had sprung from his horse and stood within three paces of me.
'A lucky day! Now we will see what truth there is in prophecies,' he said, drawing his silver-mounted sword.

'A name for a name; Juan de Garcia gives you greeting, Thomas Wingfield.' Now, strange as it may seem, it was at this moment only that there flashed across my mind the thought of all that I had heard about the Spanish stranger, the report of whose coming to Yarmouth had stirred my father and mother so deeply.

At any other time I should have remembered it soon enough, but on this day I was so set upon my tryst with Lily and what I should say to her, that nothing else could hold a place in my thoughts.
'This must be the man,' I said to myself, and then I said no more, for he was on me, sword up.