Then I turned and fled homewards 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 one voice: 'What evil thing has happened ?' Thrice I looked at my father before I could speak, for I feared lest the blow should kill him.

But speak I must at last, though I chose that it should be to Geoffrey my brother.

'Our mother lies murdered yonder on the Vineyard Hill.

A Spanish man has done the deed, Juan de 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.