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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Fair Margaret, by H. Rider Haggard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Fair Margaret
+
+Author: H. Rider Haggard
+
+Illustrator: J. R. Skelton
+
+Release Date: October 15, 2003 [eBook #9780]
+[Most recently updated: October 7, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Steve Flynn, Tonya Allen and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAIR MARGARET ***
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+Fair Margaret
+
+by H. Rider Haggard
+
+Author of “King Solomon’s Mines,” “She,” “Jess,” etc.
+
+WITH 15 ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. R. SKELTON
+
+London: HUTCHINSON & CO.
+Paternoster Row
+
+1907
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER I. HOW PETER MET THE SPANIARD.
+CHAPTER II. JOHN CASTELL.
+CHAPTER III. PETER GATHERS VIOLETS.
+CHAPTER IV. LOVERS DEAR.
+CHAPTER V. CASTELL’S SECRET.
+CHAPTER VI. FAREWELL.
+CHAPTER VII. NEWS FROM SPAIN.
+CHAPTER VIII. D’AGUILAR SPEAKS.
+CHAPTER IX. THE SNARE.
+CHAPTER X. THE CHASE.
+CHAPTER XI. THE MEETING ON THE SEA.
+CHAPTER XII. FATHER HENRIQUES.
+CHAPTER XIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE INN.
+CHAPTER XIV. INEZ AND HER GARDEN.
+CHAPTER XV. PETER PLAYS A PART.
+CHAPTER XVI. BETTY SHOWS HER TEETH.
+CHAPTER XVII. THE PLOT.
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE HOLY HERMANDAD.
+CHAPTER XIX. BETTY PAYS HER DEBTS.
+CHAPTER XX. ISABELLA OF SPAIN.
+CHAPTER XXI. BETTY STATES HER CASE.
+CHAPTER XXII. THE DOOM OF JOHN CASTELL.
+CHAPTER XXIII. FATHER HENRIQUES AND THE BAKER’S OVEN.
+CHAPTER XXIV. THE FALCON STOOPS.
+CHAPTER XXV. HOW THE MARGARET WON OUT TO SEA.
+ENVOI.
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+“A DOVE, COMRADES!—A DOVE!”
+CASTELL DECLARES HIMSELF A JEW
+“YOU MEAN THAT YOU WISH TO MURDER ME”
+MARGARET APPEARED DESCENDING THE BROAD OAK STAIRS
+IN ANOTHER MOMENT THAT STEEL WOULD HAVE PIERCED HIS HEART
+THE GALE CAUGHT HIM AND BLEW HIM TO AND FRO
+“LADY,” HE SAID, “THIS IS NO DEED OF MINE”
+A CRUEL-LOOKING KNIFE AND A NAKED ARM PROJECTED THROUGH THE PANELLING
+“MY NAME IS INEZ. YOU WANDER STILL, SEÑOR”
+“THERE ARE OTHERS WHERE THEY CAME FROM”
+“TO-DAY I DARE TO HOPE THAT IT MAY BE OTHERWISE”
+A MAGNIFICENTLY ATTIRED LADY OF MIDDLE AGE
+“WAY! MAKE WAY FOR THE MARCHIONESS OF MORELLA!”
+“WE ARE PLAYERS IN A STRANGE GAME, MY LADY MARGARET”
+“YOU WILL HAVE TO FIGHT ME FIRST, PETER”
+
+
+
+
+FAIR MARGARET
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+HOW PETER MET THE SPANIARD.
+
+
+It was a spring afternoon in the sixth year of the reign of King Henry
+VII. of England. There had been a great show in London, for that day
+his Grace opened the newly convened Parliament, and announced to his
+faithful people—who received the news with much cheering, since war is
+ever popular at first—his intention of invading France, and of leading
+the English armies in person. In Parliament itself, it is true, the
+general enthusiasm was somewhat dashed when allusion was made to the
+finding of the needful funds; but the crowds without, formed for the
+most part of persons who would not be called upon to pay the money, did
+not suffer that side of the question to trouble them. So when their
+gracious liege appeared, surrounded by his glittering escort of nobles
+and men-at-arms, they threw their caps into the air, and shouted
+themselves hoarse.
+
+The king himself, although he was still young in years, already a
+weary-looking man with a fine, pinched face, smiled a little
+sarcastically at their clamour; but, remembering how glad he should be
+to hear it who still sat upon a somewhat doubtful throne, said a few
+soft words, and sending for two or three of the leaders of the people,
+gave them his royal hand, and suffered certain children to touch his
+robe that they might be cured of the Evil. Then, having paused a while
+to receive petitions from poor folk, which he handed to one of his
+officers to be read, amidst renewed shouting he passed on to the great
+feast that was made ready in his palace of Westminster.
+
+Among those who rode near to him was the ambassador, de Ayala,
+accredited to the English Court by the Spanish sovereigns, Ferdinand
+and Isabella, and his following of splendidly attired lords and
+secretaries. That Spain was much in favour there was evident from his
+place in the procession. How could it be otherwise, indeed, seeing that
+already, four years or more before, at the age of twelve months, Prince
+Arthur, the eldest son of the king, had been formally affianced to the
+Infanta Catherine, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, aged one year
+and nine months? For in those days it was thought well that the
+affections of princes and princesses should be directed early into such
+paths as their royal parents and governors considered likely to prove
+most profitable to themselves.
+
+At the ambassador’s left hand, mounted on a fine black horse, and
+dressed richly, but simply, in black velvet, with a cap of the same
+material in which was fastened a single pearl, rode a tall cavalier. He
+was about five-and-thirty years of age, and very handsome, having
+piercing black eyes and a stern, clean-cut face.
+
+In every man, it is said, there can be found a resemblance, often far
+off and fanciful enough, to some beast or bird or other creature, and
+certainly in this case it was not hard to discover. The man resembled
+an eagle, which, whether by chance or design, was the crest he bore
+upon his servants’ livery, and the trappings of his horse. The
+unflinching eyes, the hooked nose, the air of pride and mastery, the
+thin, long hand, the quick grace of movement, all suggested that king
+of birds, suggested also, as his motto said, that what he sought he
+would find, and what he found he would keep. Just now he was watching
+the interview between the English king and the leaders of the crowd
+whom his Grace had been pleased to summon, with an air of mingled
+amusement and contempt.
+
+“You find the scene strange, Marquis,” said the ambassador, glancing at
+him shrewdly.
+
+“Señor, here in England, if it pleases your Excellency,” he answered
+gravely, “Señor d’Aguilar. The marquis you mentioned lives in Spain—an
+accredited envoy to the Moors of Granada; the Señor d’Aguilar, a humble
+servant of Holy Church,” and he crossed himself, “travels abroad—upon
+the Church’s business, and that of their Majesties’.”
+
+“And his own too, sometimes, I believe,” answered the ambassador drily.
+“But to be frank, what I do not understand about you, Señor d’Aguilar,
+as I know that you have abandoned political ambitions, is why you do
+not enter my profession, and put on the black robe once and for all.
+What did I say—black? With your opportunities and connections it might
+be red by now, with a hat to match.”
+
+The Señor d’Aguilar smiled a little as he replied.
+
+“You said, I think, that sometimes I travel on my own business. Well,
+there is your answer. You are right, I have abandoned worldly
+ambitions—most of them. They are troublesome, and for some people, if
+they be born too high and yet not altogether rightly, very dangerous.
+The acorn of ambition often grows into an oak from which men hang.”
+
+“Or into a log upon which men’s heads can be cut off. Señor, I
+congratulate you. You have the wisdom that grasps the substance and
+lets the shadows flit. It is really very rare.”
+
+“You asked why I do not change the cut of my garments,” went on
+d’Aguilar, without noticing the interruption. “Excellency, to be frank,
+because of my own business. I have failings like other men. For
+instance, wealth is that substance of which you spoke, rule is the
+shadow; he who has the wealth has the real rule. Again, bright eyes may
+draw me, or a hate may seek its slaking, and these things do not suit
+robes, black or red.”
+
+“Yet many such things have been done by those who wore them,” replied
+the ambassador with meaning.
+
+“Aye, Excellency, to the discredit of Holy Church, as you, a priest,
+know better than most men. Let the earth be evil as it must; but let
+the Church be like heaven above it, pure, unstained, the vault of
+prayer, the house of mercy and of righteous judgment, wherein walks no
+sinner such as I,” and again he crossed himself.
+
+There was a ring of earnestness in the speaker’s voice that caused de
+Ayala, who knew something of his private reputation, to look at him
+curiously.
+
+“A true fanatic, and therefore to us a useful man,” he thought to
+himself, “though one who knows how to make the best of two worlds as
+well as most of them;” but aloud he said, “No wonder that our Church
+rejoices in such a son, and that her enemies tremble when he lifts her
+sword. But, Señor, you have not told me what you think of all this
+ceremony and people.”
+
+“The people I know well, Excellency, for I dwelt among them in past
+years and speak their language; and that is why I have left Granada to
+look after itself for a while, and am here to-day, to watch and make
+report——” He checked himself, then added, “As for the ceremony, were I
+a king I would have it otherwise. Why, in that house just now those
+vulgar Commons—for so they call them, do they not?—almost threatened
+their royal master when he humbly craved a tithe of the country’s
+wealth to fight the country’s war. Yes, and I saw him turn pale and
+tremble at the rough voices, as though their echoes shook his throne. I
+tell you, Excellency, that the time will come in this land when those
+Commons will be king. Look now at that fellow whom his Grace holds by
+the hand, calling him ‘sir’ and ‘master,’ and yet whom he knows to be,
+as I do, a heretic, a Jew in disguise, whose sins, if he had his
+rights, should be purged by fire. Why, to my knowledge last night, that
+Israelite said things against the Church——”
+
+“Whereof the Church, or its servant, doubtless made notes to be used
+when the time comes,” broke in de Ayala. “But the audience is done, and
+his Highness beckons us forward to the feast, where there will be no
+heretics to vex us, and, as it is Lent, not much to eat. Come, Señor!
+for we stop the way.”
+
+Three hours had gone by, and the sun sank redly, for even at that
+spring season it was cold upon the marshy lands of Westminster, and
+there was frost in the air. On the open space opposite to the
+banqueting-hall, in front of which were gathered squires and grooms
+with horses, stood and walked many citizens of London, who, their day’s
+work done, came to see the king pass by in state. Among these were a
+man and a lady, the latter attended by a handsome young woman, who were
+all three sufficiently striking in appearance to attract some notice in
+the throng.
+
+The man, a person of about thirty years of age, dressed in a merchant’s
+robe of cloth, and wearing a knife in his girdle, seemed over six feet
+in height, while his companion, in her flowing, fur-trimmed cloak, was,
+for a woman, also of unusual stature. He was not, strictly speaking, a
+handsome man, being somewhat too high of forehead and prominent of
+feature; moreover, one of his clean-shaven cheeks, the right, was
+marred by the long, red scar of a sword-cut which stretched from the
+temple to the strong chin. His face, however, was open and manly, if
+rather stern, and the grey eyes were steady and frank. It was not the
+face of a merchant, but rather that of one of good degree, accustomed
+to camps and war. For the rest, his figure was well-built and active,
+and his voice when he spoke, which was seldom, clear and distinct to
+loudness, but cultivated and pleasant—again, not the voice of a
+merchant.
+
+Of the lady’s figure little could be seen because of the long cloak
+that hid it, but the face, which appeared within its hood when she
+turned and the dying sunlight filled her eyes, was lovely indeed, for
+from her birth to her death-day Margaret Castell—fair Margaret, as she
+was called—had this gift to a degree that is rarely granted to woman.
+Rounded and flower-like was that face, most delicately tinted also,
+with rich and curving lips and a broad, snow-white brow. But the wonder
+of it, what distinguished her above everything else from other
+beautiful women of her time, was to be found in her eyes, for these
+were not blue or grey, as might have been expected from her general
+colouring, but large, black, and lustrous; soft, too, as the eyes of a
+deer, and overhung by curling lashes of an ebon black. The effect of
+these eyes of hers shining above those tinted cheeks and beneath the
+brow of ivory whiteness was so strange as to be almost startling. They
+caught the beholder and held him, as might the sudden sight of a rose
+in snow, or the morning star hanging luminous among the mists of dawn.
+Also, although they were so gentle and modest, if that beholder chanced
+to be a man on the good side of fifty it was often long before he could
+forget them, especially if he were privileged to see how well they
+matched the hair of chestnut, shading into black, that waved above them
+and fell, tress upon tress, upon the shapely shoulders and down to the
+slender waist.
+
+Peter Brome, for he was so named, looked a little anxiously about him
+at the crowd, then, turning, addressed Margaret in his strong, clear
+voice.
+
+“There are rough folk around,” he said; “do you think you should stop
+here? Your father might be angered, Cousin.”
+
+Here it may be explained that in reality their kinship was of the
+slightest, a mere dash of blood that came to her through her mother.
+Still they called each other thus, since it is a convenient title that
+may mean much or nothing.
+
+“Oh! why not?” she answered in her rich, slow tones, that had in them
+some foreign quality, something soft and sweet as the caress of a
+southern wind at night. “With you, Cousin,” and she glanced approvingly
+at his stalwart, soldier-like form, “I have nothing to fear from men,
+however rough, and I do greatly want to see the king close by, and so
+does Betty. Don’t you, Betty?” and she turned to her companion.
+
+Betty Dene, whom she addressed, was also a cousin of Margaret, though
+only a distant connection of Peter Brome. She was of very good blood,
+but her father, a wild and dissolute man, had broken her mother’s
+heart, and, like that mother, died early, leaving Betty dependent upon
+Margaret’s mother, in whose house she had been brought up. This Betty
+was in her way remarkable, both in body and mind. Fair, splendidly
+formed, strong, with wide, bold, blue eyes and ripe red lips, such was
+the fashion of her. In speech she was careless and vigorous. Fond of
+the society of men, and fonder still of their admiration, for she was
+romantic and vain, Betty at the age of five-and-twenty was yet an
+honest girl, and well able to take care of herself, as more than one of
+her admirers had discovered. Although her position was humble, at heart
+she was very proud of her lineage, ambitious also, her great desire
+being to raise herself by marriage back to the station from which her
+father’s folly had cast her down—no easy business for one who passed as
+a waiting-woman and was without fortune.
+
+For the rest, she loved and admired her cousin Margaret more than any
+one on earth, while Peter she liked and respected, none the less
+perhaps because, try as she would—and, being nettled, she did try hard
+enough—her beauty and other charms left him quite unmoved.
+
+In answer to Margaret’s question she laughed and answered:
+
+“Of course. We are all too busy up in Holborn to get the chance of so
+many shows that I should wish to miss one. Still, Master Peter is very
+wise, and I am always counselled to obey him. Also, it will soon be
+dark.”
+
+“Well, well,” said Margaret with a sigh and a little shrug of her
+shoulders, “as you are both against me, perhaps we had best be going.
+Next time I come out walking, cousin Peter, it shall be with some one
+who is more kind.”
+
+Then she turned and began to make her way as quickly as she could
+through the thickening crowd. Finding this difficult, before Peter
+could stop her, for she was very swift in her movements, Margaret bore
+to the right, entering the space immediately in front of the
+banqueting-hall where the grooms with horses and soldiers were
+assembled awaiting their lords, for here there was more room to walk.
+For a few moments Peter and Betty were unable to escape from the mob
+which closed in behind her, and thus it came about that Margaret found
+herself alone among these people, in the midst, indeed, of the guard of
+the Spanish ambassador de Ayala, men who were notorious for their
+lawlessness, for they reckoned upon their master’s privilege to protect
+them. Also, for the most part, they were just then more or less in
+liquor.
+
+One of these fellows, a great, red-haired Scotchman, whom the
+priest-diplomatist had brought with him from that country, where he had
+also been ambassador, suddenly perceiving before him a woman who
+appeared to be young and pretty, determined to examine her more
+closely, and to this end made use of a rude stratagem. Pretending to
+stumble, he grasped at Margaret’s cloak as though to save himself, and
+with a wrench tore it open, revealing her beautiful face and graceful
+figure.
+
+“A dove, comrades!—a dove!” he shouted in a voice thick with drink,
+“who has flown here to give me a kiss.” And, casting his long arms
+about her, he strove to draw her to him.
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+“A dove, comrades!—A dove!”
+
+“Peter! Help me, Peter!” cried Margaret as she struggled fiercely in
+his grip.
+
+“No, no, if you want a saint, my bonny lass,” said the drunken
+Scotchman, “Andrew is as good as Peter,” at which witticism those of
+the others who understood him laughed, for the man’s name was Andrew.
+
+Next instant they laughed again, and to the ruffian Andrew it seemed as
+though suddenly he had fallen into the power of a whirlwind. At least
+Margaret was wrenched away from him, while he spun round and round to
+fall violently upon his face.
+
+“That’s Peter!” exclaimed one of the soldiers in Spanish.
+
+“Yes,” answered another, “and a patron saint worth having”; while a
+third pulled the recumbent Andrew to his feet.
+
+The man looked like a devil. His cap had gone, and his fiery red hair
+was smeared with mud. Moreover, his nose had been broken on a cobble
+stone, and blood from it poured all over him, while his little red eyes
+glared like a ferret’s, and his face turned a dirty white with pain and
+rage. Howling out something in Scotch, of a sudden he drew his sword
+and rushed straight at his adversary, purposing to kill him.
+
+Now, Peter had no sword, but only his short knife, which he found no
+time to draw. In his hand, however, he carried a stout holly staff shod
+with iron, and, while Margaret clasped her hands and Betty screamed, on
+this he caught the descending blow, and, furious as it was, parried and
+turned it. Then, before the man could strike again, that staff was up,
+and Peter had leapt upon him. It fell with fearful force, breaking the
+Scotchman’s shoulder and sending him reeling back.
+
+“Shrewdly struck, Peter! Well done, Peter!” shouted the spectators.
+
+But Peter neither saw nor heard them, for he was mad with rage at the
+insult that had been offered to Margaret. Up flew the iron-tipped staff
+again, and down it came, this time full on Andrew’s head, which it
+shattered like an egg-shell, so that the brute fell backwards, dead.
+
+For a moment there was silence, for the joke had taken a tragic turn.
+Then one of the Spaniards said, glancing at the prostrate form:
+
+“Name of God! our mate is done for. That merchant hits hard.”
+
+Instantly there arose a murmur among the dead man’s comrades, and one
+of them cried:
+
+“Cut him down!”
+
+Understanding that he was to be set on, Peter sprang forward and
+snatched the Scotchman’s sword from the ground where it had fallen, at
+the same time dropping his staff and drawing his dagger with the left
+hand. Now he was well armed, and looked so fierce and soldier-like as
+he faced his foes, that, although four or five blades were out, they
+held back. Then Peter spoke for the first time, for he knew that
+against so many he had no chance.
+
+“Englishmen,” he cried in ringing tones, but without shifting his head
+or glance, “will you see me murdered by these Spanish dogs?”
+
+There was a moment’s pause, then a voice behind cried:
+
+“By God! not I,” and a brawny Kentish man-at-arms ranged up beside him,
+his cloak thrown over his left arm, and his sword in his right hand.
+
+“Nor I,” said another. “Peter Brome and I have fought together before.”
+
+“Nor I,” shouted a third, “for we were born in the same Essex hundred.”
+
+And so it went on, until there were as many stout Englishmen at his
+side as there were Spaniards and Scotchmen before him.
+
+“That will do,” said Peter, “we want no more than man to man. Look to
+the women, comrades behind there. Now, you murderers, if you would see
+English sword-play, come on, or, if you are afraid, let us go in
+peace.”
+
+“Yes, come on, you foreign cowards,” shouted the mob, who did not love
+these turbulent and privileged guards.
+
+By now the Spanish blood was up, and the old race-hatred awake. In
+broken English the sergeant of the guard shouted out some filthy insult
+about Margaret, and called upon his followers to “cut the throats of
+the London swine.” Swords shone red in the red sunset light, men
+shifted their feet and bent forward, and in another instant a great and
+bloody fray would have begun.
+
+But it did not begin, for at that moment a tall señor, who had been
+standing in the shadow and watching all that passed, walked between the
+opposing lines, as he went striking up the swords with his arm.
+
+“Have done,” said d’Aguilar quietly, for it was he, speaking in
+Spanish. “You fools! do you want to see every Spaniard in London torn
+to pieces? As for that drunken brute,” and he touched the corpse of
+Andrew with his foot, “he brought his death upon himself. Moreover, he
+was not a Spaniard, there is no blood quarrel. Come, obey me! or must I
+tell you who I am?”
+
+“We know you, Marquis,” said the leader in a cowed voice. “Sheath your
+swords, comrades; after all, it is no affair of ours.”
+
+The men obeyed somewhat unwillingly; but at this moment arrived the
+ambassador de Ayala, very angry, for he had heard of the death of his
+servant, demanding, in a loud voice, that the man who had killed him
+should be given up.
+
+“We will not give him up to a Spanish priest,” shouted the mob. “Come
+and take him if you want him,” and once more the tumult grew, while
+Peter and his companions made ready to fight.
+
+Fighting there would have been also, notwithstanding all that d’Aguilar
+could do to prevent it; but of a sudden the noise began to die away,
+and a hush fell upon the place. Then between the uplifted weapons
+walked a short, richly clad man, who turned suddenly and faced the mob.
+It was King Henry himself.
+
+“Who dare to draw swords in my streets, before my very palace doors?”
+he asked in a cold voice.
+
+A dozen hands pointed at Peter.
+
+“Speak,” said the king to him.
+
+“Margaret, come here,” cried Peter; and the girl was thrust forward to
+him.
+
+“Sire,” he said, “that man,” and he pointed to the corpse of Andrew,
+“tried to do wrong to this maiden, John Castell’s child. I, her cousin,
+threw him down. He drew his sword and came at me, and I killed him with
+my staff. See, it lies there. Then the Spaniards—his comrades—would
+have cut me down, and I called for English help. Sire, that is all.”
+
+The king looked him up and down.
+
+“A merchant by your dress,” he said; “but a soldier by your mien. How
+are you named?”
+
+“Peter Brome, Sire.”
+
+“Ah! There was a certain Sir Peter Brome who fell at Bosworth Field—not
+fighting for me,” and he smiled. “Did you know him perchance?”
+
+“He was my father, Sire, and I saw him slain—aye, and slew the slayer.”
+
+“Well can I believe it,” answered Henry, considering him. “But how
+comes it that Peter Brome’s son, who wears that battle scar across his
+face, is clad in merchant’s woollen?”
+
+“Sire,” said Peter coolly, “my father sold his lands, lent his all to
+the Crown, and I have never rendered the account. Therefore I must live
+as I can.”
+
+The king laughed outright as he replied:
+
+“I like you, Peter Brome, though doubtless you hate me.”
+
+“Not so, Sire. While Richard lived I fought for Richard. Richard is
+gone; and, if need be, I would fight for Henry, who am an Englishman,
+and serve England’s king.”
+
+“Well said, and I may have need of you yet, nor do I bear you any
+grudge. But, I forgot, is it thus that you would fight for me, by
+causing riot in my streets, and bringing me into trouble with my good
+friends the Spaniards?”
+
+“Sire, you know the story.”
+
+“I know your story, but who bears witness to it? Do you, maiden,
+Castell the merchant’s daughter?”
+
+“Aye, Sire. The man whom my cousin killed maltreated me, whose only
+wrong was that I waited to see your Grace pass by. Look on my torn
+cloak.”
+
+“Little wonder that he killed him for the sake of those eyes of yours,
+maiden. But this witness may be tainted.” And again he smiled, adding,
+“Is there no other?”
+
+Betty advanced to speak, but d’Aguilar, stepping forward, lifted his
+bonnet from his head, bowed and said in English:
+
+“Your Grace, there is; I saw it all. This gallant gentleman had no
+blame. It was the servants of my countryman de Ayala who were to blame,
+at any rate at first, and afterwards came the trouble.”
+
+Now the ambassador de Ayala broke in, claiming satisfaction for the
+killing of his man, for he was still very angry, and saying that if it
+were not given, he would report the matter to their Majesties of Spain,
+and let them know how their servants were treated in London.
+
+At these words Henry grew grave, who, above all things, wished to give
+no offence to Ferdinand and Isabella.
+
+“You have done an ill day’s work, Peter Brome,” he said, “and one of
+which my attorney must consider. Meanwhile, you will be best in safe
+keeping,” and he turned as though to order his arrest.
+
+“Sire,” exclaimed Peter, “I live at Master Castell’s house in Holborn,
+nor shall I run away.”
+
+“Who will answer for that,” asked the king, “or that you will not make
+more riots on your road thither?”
+
+“I will answer, your Grace,” said d’Aguilar quietly, “if this lady will
+permit that I escort her and her cousin home. Also,” he added in a low
+voice, “it seems to me that to hale him to a prison would be more like
+to breed a riot than to let him go.”
+
+Henry glanced round him at the great crowd who were gathered watching
+this scene, and saw something in their faces which caused him to agree
+with d’Aguilar.
+
+“So be it, Marquis,” he said. “I have your word, and that of Peter
+Brome, that he will be forthcoming if called upon. Let that dead man be
+laid in the Abbey till to-morrow, when this matter shall be inquired
+of. Excellency, give me your arm; I have greater questions of which I
+wish to speak with you ere we sleep.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+JOHN CASTELL.
+
+
+When the king was gone, Peter turned to those men who had stood by him
+and thanked them very heartily. Then he said to Margaret:
+
+“Come, Cousin, that is over for this time, and you have had your wish
+and seen his Grace. Now, the sooner you are safe at home, the better I
+shall be pleased.”
+
+“Certainly,” she replied. “I have seen more than I desire to see again.
+But before we go let us thank this Spanish señor——” and she paused.
+
+“D’Aguilar, Lady, or at least that name will serve,” said the Spaniard
+in his cultured voice, bowing low before her, his eyes fixed all the
+while upon her beautiful face.
+
+“Señor d’Aguilar, I thank you, and so does my cousin, Peter Brome,
+whose life perhaps you saved—don’t you, Peter? Oh! and so will my
+father.”
+
+“Yes,” answered Peter somewhat sulkily, “I thank him very much; though
+as for my life, I trusted to my own arm and to those of my friends
+there. Good night, Sir.”
+
+“I fear, Señor,” answered d’Aguilar with a smile, “that we cannot part
+just yet. You forget, I have become bond for you, and must therefore
+accompany you to where you live, that I may certify the place. Also,
+perhaps, it is safest, for these countrymen of mine are revengeful,
+and, were I not with you, might waylay you.”
+
+Now, seeing from his face that Peter was still bent upon declining this
+escort, Margaret interposed quickly.
+
+“Yes, that is wisest, also my father would wish it. Señor, I will show
+you the way,” and, accompanied by d’Aguilar, who gallantly offered her
+his arm, she stepped forward briskly, leaving Peter to follow with her
+cousin Betty.
+
+Thus they walked in the twilight across the fields and through the
+narrow streets beyond that lay between Westminster and Holborn. In
+front tripped Margaret beside her stately cavalier, with whom she was
+soon talking fast enough in Spanish, a tongue which, for reasons that
+shall be explained, she knew well, while behind, the Scotchman’s sword
+still in his hand, and the handsome Betty on his arm, came Peter Brome
+in the worst of humours.
+
+John Castell lived in a large, rambling, many-gabled, house, just off
+the main thoroughfare of Holborn, that had at the back of it a garden
+surrounded by a high wall. Of this ancient place the front part served
+as a shop, a store for merchandise, and an office, for Castell was a
+very wealthy trader—how wealthy none quite knew—who exported woollen
+and other goods to Spain under the royal licence, bringing thence in
+his own ships fine, raw Spanish wool to be manufactured in England, and
+with it velvet, silks, and wine from Granada; also beautiful inlaid
+armour of Toledo steel. Sometimes, too, he dealt in silver and copper
+from the mountain mines, for Castell was a banker as well as a
+merchant, or rather what answered to that description in those days.
+
+It was said that beneath his shop were dungeon-like store-vaults, built
+of thick cemented stone, with iron doors through which no thief could
+break, and filled with precious things. However this might be,
+certainly in that great house, which in the time of the Plantagenets
+had been the fortified palace of a noble, existed chambers whereof he
+alone knew the secret, since no one else, not even his daughter or
+Peter, ever crossed their threshold. Also, there slept in it a number
+of men-servants, very stout fellows, who wore knives or swords beneath
+their cloaks, and watched at night to see that all was well. For the
+rest, the living-rooms of this house where Castell, Margaret his
+daughter, and Peter dwelt, were large and comfortable, being new
+panelled with oak after the Tudor fashion, and having deep windows that
+looked out upon the garden.
+
+When Peter and Betty reached the door, not that which led into the
+shop, but another, it was to find that Margaret and d’Aguilar, who were
+walking very quickly, must have already passed it, since it was shut,
+and they had vanished. At his knock—a hard one—a serving-man opened,
+and Peter strode through the vestibule, or ante-chamber, into the hall,
+where for the most part they ate and sat, for thence he heard the sound
+of voices. It was a fine room, lit by hanging lamps of olive oil, and
+having a large, open hearth where a fire burned pleasantly, while the
+oaken table in front of it was set for supper. Margaret, who had thrown
+off her cloak, stood warming herself at the fire, and the Señor
+d’Aguilar, comfortably seated in a big chair, which he seemed to have
+known for years, leaned back, his bonnet in his hand, and watched her
+idly.
+
+Facing them stood John Castell, a stout, dark-bearded man of between
+fifty and sixty years of age, with a clever, clean-cut face and
+piercing black eyes. Now, in the privacy of his home, he was very
+richly attired in a robe trimmed with the costliest fur, and fastened
+with a gold chain that had a jewel on its clasp. When Castell served in
+his shop or sat in his counting-house no merchant in London was more
+plainly dressed; but at night, loving magnificence at heart, it was his
+custom thus to indulge in it, even when there were none to see him.
+From the way in which he stood, and the look upon his face, Peter knew
+at once that he was much disturbed. Hearing his step, Castell wheeled
+round and addressed him at once in the clear, decided voice which was
+his characteristic.
+
+“What is this I am told, Peter? A man killed by you before the palace
+gates? A broil! A public riot in which things went near to great
+bloodshed between the English, with you at the head of them, and the
+bodyguard of his Excellency, de Ayala. You arrested by the king, and
+bailed out by this señor. Is all this true?”
+
+“Quite,” answered Peter calmly.
+
+“Then I am ruined; we are all ruined. Oh! it was an evil hour when I
+took one of your bloodthirsty trade into my house. What have you to
+say?”
+
+“Only that I want my supper,” said Peter. “Those who began the story
+can finish it, for I think their tongues are nimbler than my own,” and
+he glanced wrathfully at Margaret, who laughed outright, while even the
+solemn d’Aguilar smiled.
+
+“Father,” broke in Margaret, “do not be angry with cousin Peter, whose
+only fault is that he hits too hard. It is I who am to blame, for I
+wished to stop to see the king against his will and Betty’s, and
+then—then that brute,” and her eyes filled with tears of shame and
+anger, “caught hold of me, and Peter threw him down, and afterwards,
+when he attacked him with a sword, Peter killed him with his staff,
+and—all the rest happened.”
+
+“It was beautifully done,” said d’Aguilar in his soft voice and foreign
+accent. “I saw it all, and made sure that you were dead. The parry I
+understood, but the way you got your smashing blow in before he could
+thrust again—ah! that——”
+
+“Well, well,” said Castell, “let us eat first and talk afterwards.
+Señor d’Aguilar, you will honour my poor board, will you not, though it
+is hard to come from a king’s feast to a merchant’s fare?”
+
+“It is I who am honoured,” answered d’Aguilar; “and as for the feast,
+his Grace is sparing in this Lenten season. At least, I could get
+little to eat, and, therefore, like the señor Peter, I am starved.”
+
+Castell rang a silver bell which stood near by, whereon servants
+brought in the meal, which was excellent and plentiful. While they were
+setting it on the table, the merchant went to a cupboard in the
+wainscoting, and took thence two flasks, which he uncorked himself with
+care, saying that he would give the señor some wine of his own country.
+This done, he said a Latin grace and crossed himself, an example which
+d’Aguilar followed, remarking that he was glad to find that he was in
+the house of a good Christian.
+
+“What else did you think that I should be?” asked Castell, glancing at
+him shrewdly.
+
+“I did not think at all, Señor,” he answered; “but alas! every one is
+not a Christian. In Spain, for instance, we have many Moors and—Jews.”
+
+“I know,” said Castell, “for I trade with them both.”
+
+“Then you have never visited Spain?”
+
+“No; I am an English merchant. But try that wine, Señor; it came from
+Granada, and they say that it is good.”
+
+d’Aguilar tasted it, then drank off his glass.
+
+“It is good, indeed,” he said; “I have not its equal in my own cellars
+there.”
+
+“Do you, then, live in Granada, Señor d’Aguilar?” asked Castell.
+
+“Sometimes, when I am not travelling. I have a house there which my
+mother left me. She loved the town, and bought an old palace from the
+Moors. Would you not like to see Granada, Señora?” he asked, turning to
+Margaret as though to change the subject. “There is a wonderful
+building there called the Alhambra; it overlooks my house.”
+
+“My daughter is never likely to see it,” broke in Castell; “I do not
+purpose that she should visit Spain.”
+
+“Ah! you do not purpose; but who knows? God and His saints alone,” and
+again he crossed himself, then fell to describing the beauties of
+Granada.
+
+He was a fine and ready talker, and his voice was very pleasant, so
+Margaret listened attentively enough, watching his face, and forgetting
+to eat, while her father and Peter watched them both. At length the
+meal came to an end, and when the serving-men had cleared away the
+dishes, and they were alone, Castell said:
+
+“Now, kinsman Peter, tell me your story.”
+
+So Peter told him, in few words, yet omitting nothing.
+
+“I find no blame in you,” said the merchant when he had done, “nor do I
+see how you could have acted otherwise than you did. It is Margaret
+whom I blame, for I only gave her leave to walk with you and Betty by
+the river, and bade her beware of crowds.”
+
+“Yes, father, the fault is mine, and for it I pray your pardon,” said
+Margaret, so meekly that her father could not find the heart to scold
+her as he had meant to do.
+
+“You should ask Peter’s pardon,” he muttered, “seeing that he is like
+to be laid by the heels in a dungeon over this business, yes, and put
+upon his trial for causing the man’s death. Remember, he was in the
+service of de Ayala, with whom our liege wishes to stand well, and de
+Ayala, it seems, is very angry.”
+
+Now Margaret grew frightened, for the thought that harm might come to
+Peter cut her heart. The colour left her cheek, and once again her eyes
+swam with tears.
+
+“Oh! say not so,” she exclaimed. “Peter, will you not fly at once?”
+
+“By no means,” he answered decidedly. “Did I not say it to the king,
+and is not this foreign lord bond for me?”
+
+“What can be done?” she went on; then, as a thought struck her, turned
+to d’Aguilar, and, clasping her slender hands, looked pleadingly into
+his face and asked: “Señor, you who are so powerful, and the friend of
+great people, will you not help us?”
+
+“Am I not here to do so, Señora? Although I think that a man who can
+call half London to his back, as I saw your cousin do, needs little
+help from me. But listen, my country has two ambassadors at this
+Court—de Ayala, whom he has offended, and Doctor de Puebla, the friend
+of the king; and, strangely enough, de Puebla does not love de Ayala.
+Yet he does love money, which perhaps will be forthcoming. Now, if a
+charge is to be laid over this brawl, it will probably be done, not by
+the churchman, de Ayala, but through de Puebla, who knows your laws and
+Court, and—do you understand me, Señor Castell?”
+
+“Yes,” answered the merchant; “but how am I to get at de Puebla? If I
+were to offer him money, he would only ask more.”
+
+“I see that you know his Excellency,” remarked d’Aguilar drily. “You
+are right, no money should be offered; a present must be made after the
+pardon is delivered—not before. Oh! de Puebla knows that John Castell’s
+word is as good in London as it is among the Jews and infidels of
+Granada and the merchants of Seville, at both of which places I have
+heard it spoken.”
+
+At this speech Castell’s eyes flickered, but he only answered:
+
+“May be; but how shall I approach him, Señor?”
+
+“If you will permit me, that is my task. Now, to what amount will you
+go to save our friend here from inconvenience? Fifty gold angels?”
+
+“It is too much,” said Castell; “a knave like that is not worth ten.
+Indeed, he was the assailant, and nothing should be paid at all.”
+
+“Ah! Señor, the merchant is coming out in you; also the dangerous man
+who thinks that right should rule the world, not kings—I mean might.
+The knave is worth nothing, but de Puebla’s word in Henry’s ear is
+worth much.”
+
+“Fifty angels be it then,” said Castell, “and I thank you, Señor, for
+your good offices. Will you take the money now?”
+
+“By no means; not till I bring the debt discharged. Señor, I will come
+again and let you know how matters stand. Farewell, fair maiden; may
+the saints intercede for that dead rogue who brought me into your
+company, and that of your father and your cousin of the quick eye and
+the stalwart arm! Till we meet again,” and, still murmuring
+compliments, he bowed himself out of the room in charge of a
+manservant.
+
+“Thomas,” said Castell to this servant when he returned, “you are a
+discreet fellow; put on your cap and cloak, follow that Spaniard, see
+where he lodges, and find out all you can about him. Go now, swiftly.”
+
+The man bowed and went, and presently Castell, listening, heard a side
+door shut behind him. Then he turned and said to the other two:
+
+“I do not like this business. I smell trouble in it, and I do not like
+the Spaniard either.”
+
+“He seems a very gallant gentleman, and high-born,” said Margaret.
+
+“Aye, very gallant—too gallant, and high-born—too high-born, unless I
+am mistaken. So gallant and so high-born——” And he checked himself,
+then added, “Daughter, in your wilfulness you have stirred a great
+rock. Go to your bed and pray God that it may not fall upon your house
+and crush it and us.”
+
+So Margaret crept away frightened, a little indignant also, for after
+all, what wrong had she done? And why should her father mistrust this
+splendid-looking Spanish cavalier?
+
+When she was gone, Peter, who all this while had said little, looked up
+and asked straight out:
+
+“What are you afraid of, Sir?”
+
+“Many things, Peter. First, that use will be made of this matter to
+extort much money from me, who am known to be rich, which is a sin best
+absolved by angels. Secondly, that if I make trouble about paying,
+other questions will be set afoot.”
+
+“What questions?”
+
+“Have you ever heard of the new Christians, Peter, whom the Spaniards
+call Maranos?”
+
+He nodded.
+
+“Then you know that a Marano is a converted Jew. Now, as it chances—I
+tell you who do not break secrets—my father was a Marano. His name does
+not matter—it is best forgotten; but he fled from Spain to England for
+reasons of his own, and took that of the country whence he
+came—Castile, or Castell. Also, as it is not lawful for Jews to live in
+England, he became converted to the Christian faith—seek not to know
+his motives, they are buried with him. Moreover, he converted me, his
+only child, who was but ten years old, and cared little whether I swore
+by ‘Father Abraham’ or by the ‘Blessed Mary.’ The paper of my baptism
+lies in my strong box still. Well, he was clever, and built up this
+business, and died unharmed five-and-twenty years ago, leaving me
+already rich. That same year I married an Englishwoman, your mother’s
+second cousin, and loved her and lived happily with her, and gave her
+all her heart could wish. But after Margaret’s birth, three-and-twenty
+years gone by, she never had her health, and eight years ago she died.
+You remember her, since she brought you here when you were a stout lad,
+and made me promise afterwards that I would always be your friend, for
+except your father, Sir Peter, none other of your well-born and ancient
+family were left. So when Sir Peter—against my counsel, staking his all
+upon that usurping rogue Richard, who had promised to advance him, and
+meanwhile took his money—was killed at Bosworth, leaving you landless,
+penniless, and out of favour, I offered you a home, and you, being a
+wise man, put off your mail and put on woollen and became a merchant’s
+partner, though your share of profit was but small. Now, again you have
+changed staff for steel,” and he glanced at the Scotchman’s sword that
+still lay upon a side table, “and Margaret has loosed that rock of
+which I spoke to her.”
+
+“What is the rock, Sir?”
+
+“That Spaniard whom she brought home and found so fine.”
+
+“What of the Spaniard?”
+
+“Wait a while and I will tell you.” And, taking a lamp, he left the
+room, returning presently with a letter which was written in cipher,
+and translated upon another sheet in John Castell’s own hand.
+
+“This,” he said, “is from my partner and connection, Juan Bernaldez, a
+Marano, who lives at Seville, where Ferdinand and Isabella have their
+court. Among other matters he writes this: ‘I warn all brethren in
+England to be careful. I have it that a certain one whose name I will
+not mention even in cipher, a very powerful and high-born man, and,
+although he appears to be a pleasure-seeker only, and is certainly of a
+dissolute life, among the greatest bigots in all Spain, has been sent,
+or is shortly to be sent, from Granada, where he is stationed to watch
+the Moors, as an envoy to the Court of England to conclude a secret
+treaty with its king. Under this treaty the names of rich Maranos that
+are already well known here are to be recorded, so that when the time
+comes, and the active persecution of Jews and Maranos begins, they may
+be given up and brought to Spain for trial before the Inquisition. Also
+he is to arrange that no Jew or Marano may be allowed to take refuge in
+England. This is for your information, that you may warn any whom it
+concerns.’”
+
+“You think that d’Aguilar is this man?” asked Peter, while Castell
+folded up the letter and hid it in the pocket of his robe.
+
+“I do; indeed I have heard already that a fox was on the prowl, and
+that men should look to their hen-houses. Moreover, did you note how he
+crossed himself like a priest, and what he said about being among good
+Christians? Also, it is Lent and a fast-day, and by ill-fortune,
+although none of us ate of it, there was meat upon the table, for as
+you know,” he added hurriedly, “I am not strict in such matters, who
+give little weight to forms and ceremonies. Well, he observed it, and
+touched fish only, although he drank enough of the sweet wine.
+Doubtless a report of that meat will go to Spain by the next courier.”
+
+“And if it does, what matter? We are in England, and Englishmen will
+not suffer their Spanish laws and ways. Perhaps the señor d’Aguilar
+learned as much as that to-night outside the banqueting-hall. There is
+something to be feared from this brawl at home; but while we are safe
+in London, no more from Spain.”
+
+“I am no coward, but I think there is much more to be feared, Peter.
+The arm of the Pope is long, and the arm of the crafty Ferdinand is
+longer, and both of them grope for the throats and moneybags of
+heretics.”
+
+“Well, Sir, we are not heretics.”
+
+“No, perhaps not heretics; but we are rich, and the father of one of us
+was a Jew, and there is something else in this house which even a true
+son of Holy Church might desire,” and he looked at the door through
+which Margaret had passed to her chamber.
+
+Peter understood, for his long arms moved uneasily, and his grey eyes
+flashed.
+
+“I will go to bed,” he said; “I wish to think.”
+
+“Nay, lad,” answered Castell, “fill your glass and stay awhile. I have
+words to say to you, and there is no time like the present. Who knows
+what may happen to-morrow?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+PETER GATHERS VIOLETS.
+
+
+Peter obeyed, sat down in a big oak chair by the dying fire, and waited
+in his silent fashion.
+
+“Listen,” said Castell. “Fifteen months ago you told me something, did
+you not?”
+
+Peter nodded.
+
+“What was it, then?”
+
+“That I loved my cousin Margaret, and asked your leave to tell her so.”
+
+“And what did I answer?”
+
+“That you forbade me because you had not proved me enough, and she had
+not proved herself enough; because, moreover, she would be very
+wealthy, and with her beauty might look high in marriage, although but
+a merchant’s daughter.”
+
+“Well, and then?”
+
+“And then—nothing,” and Peter sipped his wine deliberately and put it
+down upon the table.
+
+“You are a very silent man, even where your courting is concerned,”
+said Castell, searching him with his sharp eyes.
+
+“I am silent because there is no more to say. You bade me be silent,
+and I have remained so.”
+
+“What! Even when you saw those gay lords making their addresses to
+Margaret, and when she grew angry because you gave no sign, and was
+minded to yield to one or the other of them?”
+
+“Yes, even then—it was hard, but even then. Do I not eat your bread?
+and shall I take advantage of you when you have forbid me?”
+
+Castell looked at him again, and this time there were respect and
+affection in his glance.
+
+“Silent and stern, but honest,” he said as though to himself, then
+added, “A hard trial, but I saw it, and helped you in the best way by
+sending those suitors—who were worthless fellows—about their business.
+Now, say, are you still of the same mind towards Margaret?”
+
+“I seldom change my mind, Sir, and on such a business, never.”
+
+“Good! Then I give you my leave to find out what her mind may be.”
+
+In the joy which he could not control, Peter’s face flushed. Then, as
+though he were ashamed of showing emotion, even at such a moment, he
+took up his glass and drank a little of the wine before he answered.
+
+“I thank you; it is more than I dared to hope. But it is right that I
+should say, Sir, that I am no match for my cousin Margaret. The lands
+which should have been mine are gone, and I have nothing save what you
+pay me for my poor help in this trade; whereas she has, or will have,
+much.”
+
+Castell’s eyes twinkled; the answer amused him.
+
+“At least you have an upright heart,” he said, “for what other man in
+such a case would argue against himself? Also, you are of good blood,
+and not ill to look on, or so some maids might think; whilst as for
+wealth, what said the wise king of my people?—that ofttimes riches make
+themselves wings and fly away. Moreover, man, I have learned to love
+and honour you, and sooner would I leave my only child in your hands
+than in those of any lord in England.”
+
+“I know not what to say,” broke in Peter.
+
+“Then say nothing. It is your custom, and a good one—only listen. Just
+now you spoke of your Essex lands in the fair Vale of Dedham as gone.
+Well, they have come back, for last month I bought them all, and more,
+at a price larger than I wished to give because others sought them, and
+but this day I have paid in gold and taken delivery of the title. It is
+made out in your name, Peter Brome, and whether you marry my daughter,
+or whether you marry her not, yours they shall be when I am gone, since
+I promised my dead wife to befriend you, and as a child she lived there
+in your Hall.”
+
+Now moved out of his calm, the young man sprang from his seat, and,
+after the pious fashion of the time, addressed his patron saint, on
+whose feast-day he was born.
+
+“Saint Peter, I thank thee—”
+
+“I asked you to be silent,” interrupted Castell, breaking him short.
+“Moreover, after God, it is one John who should be thanked, not St.
+Peter, who has no more to do with these lands than Father Abraham or
+the patient Job. Well, thanks or no thanks, those estates are yours,
+though I had not meant to tell you of them yet. But now I have
+something to propose to you. Say, first, does Margaret think aught of
+that wooden face and those shut lips of yours?”
+
+“How can I know? I have never asked her; you forbade me.”
+
+“Pshaw! Living in one house as you do, at your age I would have known
+all there was to know on such a matter, and yet kept my word. But
+there, the blood is different, and you are somewhat over-honest for a
+lover. Was she frightened for you, now, when that knave made at you
+with the sword?”
+
+Peter considered the question, then answered:
+
+“I know not. I did not look to see; I looked at the Scotchman with his
+sword, for if I had not, I should have been dead, not he. But she was
+certainly frightened when the fellow caught hold of her, for then she
+called for me loud enough.”
+
+“And what is that? What woman in London would not call for such a one
+as Peter Brome in her trouble? Well, you must ask her, and that soon,
+if you can find the words. Take a lesson from that Spanish don, and
+scrape and bow and flatter and tell stories of the war and turn verses
+to her eyes and hair. Oh, Peter! are you a fool, that I at my age
+should have to teach you how to court a woman?”
+
+“Mayhap, Sir. At least I can do none of these things, and poesy wearies
+me to read, much more to write. But I can ask a question and take an
+answer.”
+
+Castell shook his head impatiently.
+
+“Ask the question, man, if you will, but never take the answer if it is
+against you. Wait rather, and ask it again—”
+
+“And,” went on Peter without noticing, his grey eyes lighting with a
+sudden fire, “if need be, I can break that fine Spaniard’s bones as
+though he were a twig.”
+
+“Ah!” said Castell, “perhaps you will be called upon to make your words
+good before all is done. For my part, I think his bones will take some
+breaking. Well, ask in your own way—only ask and let me hear the answer
+before to-morrow night. Now it grows late, and I have still something
+to say. I am in danger here. My wealth is noised abroad, and many covet
+it, some in high places, I think. Peter, it is in my mind to have done
+with all this trading, and to withdraw me to spend my old age where
+none will take any notice of me, down at that Hall of yours in Dedham,
+if you will give me lodging. Indeed for a year and more, ever since you
+spoke to me on the subject of Margaret, I have been calling in my
+moneys from Spain and England, and placing them out at safe interest in
+small sums, or buying jewels with them, or lending them to other
+merchants whom I trust, and who will not rob me or mine. Peter, you
+have worked well for me, but you are no chapman; it is not in your
+blood. Therefore, since there is enough for all of us and more, I shall
+pass this business and its goodwill over to others, to be managed in
+their name, but on shares, and if it please God we will keep next Yule
+at Dedham.”
+
+As he spoke the door at the far end of the hall opened, and through it
+came that serving-man who had been bidden to follow the Spaniard.
+
+“Well,” said Castell, “what tidings?”
+
+The man bowed and said:
+
+“I followed the Don as you bade me to his lodging, which I reached
+without his seeing me, though from time to time he stopped to look
+about him. He rests near the palace of Westminster, in the same big
+house where dwells the ambassador de Ayala, and those who stood round
+lifted their bonnets to him.
+
+“Watching I saw some of these go to a tavern, a low place that is open
+all night, and, following them there, called for a drink and listened
+to their talk, who know the Spanish tongue well, having worked for five
+years in your worship’s house at Seville. They spoke of the fray
+to-night, and said that if they could catch that long-legged fellow,
+meaning Master Brome yonder, they would put a knife into him, since he
+had shamed them by killing the Scotch knave, who was their officer and
+the best swordsman in their company, with a staff, and then setting his
+British bulldogs on them. I fell into talk with them, saying that I was
+an English sailor from Spain, which they were too drunk to question,
+and asked who might be the tall don who had interfered in the fray
+before the king came. They told me he is a rich señor named d’Aguilar,
+but ill to serve in Lent because he is so strict a churchman, although
+not strict in other matters. I answered that to me he looked like a
+great noble, whereon one of them said that I was right, that there was
+no blood in Spain higher than his, but unfortunately, there was a bend
+in its stream, also an inkpot had been upset into it.”
+
+“What does that mean?” asked Peter.
+
+“It is a Spanish saying,” answered Castell, “which signifies that a man
+is born illegitimate, and has Moorish blood in his veins.”
+
+“Then I asked what he was doing here, and the man answered that I had
+best put that question to the Holy Father and to the Queen of Spain.
+Lastly, after I had given the soldier another cup, I asked where the
+don lived, and whether he had any other name. He replied that he lived
+at Granada for the most part, and that if I called on him there I
+should see some pretty ladies and other nice things. As for his name,
+it was the Marquis of Nichel. I said that meant Marquis of Nothing,
+whereon the soldier answered that I seemed very curious, and that was
+just what he meant to tell me—nothing. Also he called to his comrades
+that he believed I was a spy, so I thought it time to be going, as they
+were drunk enough to do me a mischief.”
+
+“Good,” said Castell. “You are watchman tonight, Thomas, are you not?
+See that all doors are barred so that we may sleep without fear of
+Spanish thieves. Rest you well, Peter. Nay, I do not come yet; I have
+letters to send to Spain by the ship which sails to-morrow night.”
+
+When Peter had gone, John Castell extinguished all the lamps save one.
+This he took in his hand and passed from the hall into an apartment
+that in old days, when this was a noble’s house, had been the private
+chapel. There was an altar in it, and over the altar a crucifix. For a
+few moments Castell knelt before the altar, for even now, at dead of
+night, how knew he what eyes might watch him? Then he rose and, lamp in
+hand, glided behind it, lifted some tapestry, and pressed a spring in
+the panelling beneath. It opened, revealing a small secret chamber
+built in the thickness of the wall and without windows; a mere cupboard
+that once perhaps had been a place where a priest might robe or keep
+the sacred vessels.
+
+In this chamber was a plain oak table on which stood candles and an ark
+of wood, also some rolls of parchment. Before this table he knelt down,
+and put up earnest prayers to the God of Abraham, for, although his
+father had caused him to be baptized into the Christian Church as a
+child, John Castell remained a Jew. For this good reason, then, he was
+so much afraid, knowing that, although his daughter and Peter knew
+nothing of his secret, there were others who did, and that were it
+revealed ruin and perhaps death would be his portion and that of his
+house, since in those days there was no greater crime than to adore God
+otherwise than Holy Church allowed. Yet for many years he had taken the
+risk, and worshipped on as his fathers did before him.
+
+His prayer finished, he left the place, closing the spring-door behind
+him, and passed to his office, where he sat till the morning light,
+first writing a letter to his correspondent at Seville, and then
+painfully translating it into cipher by aid of a secret key. His task
+done, and the cipher letter sealed and directed, he burned the draft,
+extinguished his lamp, and, going to the window, watched the rising of
+the sun. In the garden beneath blackbirds sang, and the pale primroses
+were abloom.
+
+“I wonder,” he said aloud, “whether when those flowers come again I
+shall live to see them. Almost I feel as though the rope were
+tightening about my throat at last; it came upon me while that accursed
+Spaniard crossed himself at my table. Well, so be it; I will hide the
+truth while I can, but if they catch me I’ll not deny it. The money is
+safe, most of it; my wealth they shall never get, and now I will make
+my daughter safe also, as with Peter she must be. I would I had not put
+it off so long; but I hankered after a great marriage for her, which,
+being a Christian, she well might make. I’ll mend that fault; before
+to-morrow’s morn she shall be plighted to him, and before May-day his
+wife. God of my fathers, give us one month more of peace and safety,
+and then, because I have denied Thee openly, take my life in payment if
+Thou wilt.”
+
+Before John Castell went to bed Peter was already awake—indeed, he had
+slept but little that night. How could he sleep whose fortunes had
+changed thus wondrously between sun set and rise? Yesterday he was but
+a merchant’s assistant—a poor trade for one who had been trained to
+arms, and borne them bravely. To-day he was a gentleman again, owner of
+the broad lands where he was bred, and that had been his forefathers’
+for many a generation. Yesterday he was a lover without hope, for in
+himself he had never believed that the rich John Castell would suffer
+him, a landless man, to pay court to his daughter, one of the loveliest
+and wealthiest maids in London. He had asked his leave in past days,
+and been refused, as he had expected that he would be refused, and
+thenceforward, being on his honour as it were, he had said no tender
+word to Margaret, nor pressed her hand, nor even looked into her eyes
+and sighed. Yet at times it had seemed to him that she would not have
+been ill-pleased if he had done one of these things, or all; that she
+wondered, indeed, that he did not, and thought none the better of him
+for his abstinence. Moreover, now he learned that her father wondered
+also, and this was a strange reward of virtue.
+
+For Peter loved Margaret with heart and soul and body. Since he, a lad,
+had played with her, a child, he loved her, and no other woman. She was
+his thought by day and his dream by night, his hope, his eternal star.
+Heaven he pictured as a place where for ever he would be with Margaret,
+earth without her could be nothing but a hell. That was why he had
+stayed on in Castell’s shop, bending his proud neck to this tradesman’s
+yoke, doing the bidding and taking the rough words of chapmen and of
+lordly customers, filling in bills of exchange, and cheapening
+bargains, all without a sign or murmur, though oftentimes he felt as
+though his gorge would burst with loathing of the life. Indeed, that
+was why he had come there at all, who otherwise would have been far
+away, hewing a road to fame and fortune, or digging out a grave with
+his broadsword. For here at least he could be near to Margaret, could
+touch her hand at morn and evening, could watch the light shine in her
+beauteous eyes, and sometimes, as she bent over him, feel her breath
+upon his hair. And now his purgatory was at an end, and of a sudden the
+gates of joy were open.
+
+But what if Margaret should prove the angel with the flaming sword who
+forbade him entrance to his paradise? He trembled at the thought. Well,
+if so, so it must be; he was not the man to force her fancy, or call
+her father to his aid. He would do his best to win her, and if he
+failed, why then he would bless her, and let her go.
+
+Peter could lie abed no longer, but rose and dressed himself, although
+the dawn was not fully come. By his open window he said his prayers,
+thanking God for mercies past, and praying that He would bless him in
+his great emprise. Presently the sun rose, and there came a great
+longing on him to be alone in the countryside, he who was country-born
+and hated towns, with only the sky and the birds and the trees for
+company.
+
+But here in London was no country, wherever he went he would meet men;
+moreover, he remembered that it might be best that just now he should
+not wander through the streets unguarded, lest he should find Spaniards
+watching to take him unawares. Well, there was the garden; he would go
+thither, and walk a while. So he descended the broad oak stairs, and,
+unbolting a door, entered this garden, which, though not too well kept,
+was large for London, covering an acre of ground perhaps, surrounded by
+a high wall, and having walks, and at the end of it a group of ancient
+elms, beneath which was a seat hidden from the house. In summer this
+was Margaret’s favourite bower, for she too loved Nature and the land,
+and all the things it bore. Indeed, this garden was her joy, and the
+flowers that grew there were for the most part of her own
+planting—primroses, snowdrops, violets, and, in the shadow of the
+trees, long hartstongue ferns.
+
+For a while Peter walked up and down the central path, and, as it
+chanced, Margaret, who also had risen early and not slept too well,
+looking through her window curtains, saw him wandering there, and
+wondered what he did at this hour; also, why he was dressed in the
+clothes he wore on Sundays and holidays. Perhaps, she thought, his
+weekday garments had been torn or muddied in last night’s fray. Then
+she fell to thinking how bravely he had borne him in that fray. She saw
+it all again; the great red-headed rascal tossed up and whirled to the
+earth by his strong arms; saw Peter face that gleaming steel with
+nothing but a staff; saw the straight blows fall, and the fellow go
+reeling to the earth, slain with a single stroke.
+
+Ah! her cousin, Peter Brome, was a man indeed, though a strange one,
+and remembering certain things that did not please her, she shrugged
+her ivory shoulders, turned red, and pouted. Why, that Spaniard had
+said more civil words to her in an hour than had Peter in two years,
+and he was handsome and noble-looking also; but then the Spaniard was—a
+Spaniard, and other men were—other men, whereas Peter was—Peter, a
+creature apart, one who cared as little for women as he did for trade.
+
+Why, then, if he cared for neither women nor trade, did he stop here?
+she wondered. To gather wealth? She did not think it; he seemed to have
+no leanings that way either. It was a mystery. Still, she could wish to
+get to the bottom of Peter’s heart, just to see what was hid there,
+since no man has a right to be a riddle to his loving cousin. Yes, and
+one day she would do it, cost what it might.
+
+Meanwhile, she remembered that she had never thanked Peter for the
+brave part which he had played, and, indeed, had left him to walk home
+with Betty, a journey that, as she gathered from her sprightly cousin’s
+talk while she undressed her, neither of them had much enjoyed. For
+Betty, be it said here, was angry with Peter, who, it seemed, once had
+told her that she was a handsome, silly fool, who thought too much of
+men and too little of her business. Well, since after the day’s work
+had begun she would find no opportunity, she would go down and thank
+Peter now, and see if she could make him talk for once.
+
+So Margaret threw her fur-trimmed cloak about her, drawing its hood
+over her head, for the April air was cold, and followed Peter into the
+garden. When she reached it, however, there was no Peter to be seen,
+whereon she reproached herself for having come to that damp place so
+early and meditated return. Then, thinking that it would look foolish
+if any had chanced to see her, she walked down the path pretending to
+seek for violets, and found none. Thus she came to the group of great
+elms at the end, and, glancing between their ancient boles, saw Peter
+standing there. Now, too, she understood why she could find no violets,
+for Peter had gathered them all, and was engaged, awkwardly enough, in
+trying to tie them and some leaves into a little posy by the help of a
+stem of grass. With his left hand he held the violets, with his right
+one end of the grass, and since he lacked fingers to clasp the other,
+this he attempted with his teeth. Now he drew it tight, and now the
+brittle grass stem broke, the violets were scattered, and Peter used
+words that he should not have uttered even when alone.
+
+“I knew you would break it, but I never thought you could lose your
+temper over so small a thing, Peter,” said Margaret; and he in the
+shadow looked up to see her standing there in the sunlight, fresh and
+lovely as the spring itself.
+
+Solemnly, in severe reproof, she shook her head, from which the hood
+had fallen back, but there was a smile upon her lips, and laughter in
+her eyes. Oh! she was beautiful, and at the sight of her Peter’s heart
+stood still. Then, remembering what he had just said, and certain other
+things that Master Castell had said, he blushed so deeply that her own
+cheeks went red in sympathy. It was foolish, but she could not help it,
+for about Peter this morning there was something strange, something
+that bred blushes.
+
+“For whom are you gathering violets so early,” she asked, “when you
+ought to be praying for that Scotchman’s soul?”
+
+“I care nothing for his soul,” answered Peter testily. “If the brute
+had one, he can look after it himself; and I was gathering the
+violets—for you.”
+
+She stared. Peter was not in the habit of making her presents of
+flowers. No wonder he had looked strange.
+
+“Then I will help you to tie them. Do you know why I am up so early? It
+is for your sake. I behaved badly to you last night, for I was cross
+because you wanted to thwart me about seeing the king. I never thanked
+you for all you did, you brave Peter, though I thanked you enough in my
+heart. Do you know that when you stood there with that sword, in the
+middle of those Englishmen, you looked quite noble? Come out into the
+sunlight, and I will thank you properly.”
+
+In his agitation Peter let the remainder of the flowers fall. Then an
+idea struck him, and he answered:
+
+“Look! I can’t; if you are really grateful for nothing at all, come in
+here and help me to pick up these violets—a pest on their short
+stalks!”
+
+She hesitated a little, then by degrees drew nearer, and, bending down,
+began to find the flowers one by one. Peter had scattered them wide, so
+that at first the pair were some way apart, but when only a few
+remained, they drew close. Now there was but one violet left, and, both
+stretching for it, their hands met. Margaret held the violet, and Peter
+held Margaret’s fingers. Thus linked they straightened themselves, and
+as they rose their faces were very near together and oh! most sweet
+were Margaret’s wonderful eyes; while in the eyes of Peter there shone
+a flame. For a second they looked at each other, and then of a sudden
+he kissed her on the lips.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+LOVERS DEAR.
+
+
+“Peter!” gasped Margaret—“Peter!”
+
+But Peter made no answer, only he who had been red of face went white,
+so that the mark of the sword-cut across his cheek showed like a
+scarlet line upon a cloth.
+
+“Peter!” repeated Margaret, pulling at her hand which he still held,
+“do you know what you have done?”
+
+“It seems that you do, so what need is there for me to tell you?” he
+muttered.
+
+“Then it was not an accident; you really meant it, and you are not
+ashamed.”
+
+“If it was, I hope that I may meet with more such accidents.”
+
+“Peter, leave go of me. I am going to tell my father, at once.”
+
+His face brightened.
+
+“Tell him by all means,” he said; “he won’t mind. He told me——”
+
+“Peter, how dare you add falsehood to—to—you know what. Do you mean to
+say that my father told you to kiss me, and at six o’clock in the
+morning, too?”
+
+“He said nothing about kissing, but I suppose he meant it. He said that
+I might ask you to marry me.”
+
+“That,” replied Margaret, “is a very different thing. If you had asked
+me to marry you, and, after thinking it over for a long while, I had
+answered Yes, which of course I should not have done, then, perhaps,
+before we were married you might have—Well, Peter, you have begun at
+the wrong end, which is very shameless and wicked of you, and I shall
+never speak to you again.”
+
+“I daresay,” said Peter resignedly; “all the more reason why I should
+speak to you while I have the chance. No, you shan’t go till you have
+heard me. Listen. I have been in love with you since you were twelve
+years old—”
+
+“That must be another falsehood, Peter, or you have gone mad. If you
+had been in love with me for eleven years, you would have said so.”
+
+“I wanted to, always, but your father refused me leave. I asked him
+fifteen months ago, but he put me on my word to say nothing.”
+
+“To say nothing—yes, but he could not make you promise to show
+nothing.”
+
+“I thought that the one thing meant the other; I see now that I have
+been a fool, and, I suppose, have overstayed my market,” and he looked
+so depressed that Margaret relented a little.
+
+“Well,” she said, “at any rate it was honest, and of course I am glad
+that you were honest.”
+
+“You said just now that I told falsehoods—twice; if I am honest, how
+can I tell falsehoods?”
+
+“I don’t know. Why do you ask me riddles? Let me go and try to forget
+all this.”
+
+“Not till you have answered me outright. Will you marry me, Margaret?
+If you won’t, there will be no need for you to go, for I shall go and
+trouble you no more. You know what I am, and all about me, and I have
+nothing more to say except that, although you may find many finer
+husbands, you won’t find one who would love and care for you better. I
+know that you are very beautiful and very rich, while I am neither one
+nor the other, and often I have wished to Heaven that you were not so
+beautiful, for sometimes that brings trouble on women who are honest
+and only have one heart to give, or so rich either. But thus things
+are, and I cannot change them, and, however poor my chance of hitting
+the dove, I determined to shoot my bolt and make way for the next
+archer. Is there any chance at all, Margaret? Tell me, and put me out
+of pain, for I am not good at so much talking.”
+
+Now Margaret began to grow disturbed; her wayward assurance departed
+from her.
+
+“It is not fitting,” she murmured, “and I do not wish—I will speak to
+my father; he shall give you your answer.”
+
+“No need to trouble him, Margaret. He has given it already. His great
+desire is that we should marry, for he seeks to leave this trade and to
+live with us in the Vale of Dedham, in Essex, where he has bought back
+my father’s land.”
+
+“You are full of strange tidings this morning, Peter.”
+
+“Yes, Margaret, our wheel of life that went so slow turns fast enough
+to-day, for God above has laid His whip upon the horses of our Fate,
+and they begin to gallop, whither I know not. Must they run side by
+side, or separate? It is for you to say.”
+
+“Peter,” she said, “will you not give me a little time?”
+
+“Aye, Margaret, ten whole minutes by the clock, and then if it is nay,
+all your life, for I pack my chest and go. It will be said that I
+feared to be taken for that soldier’s death.”
+
+“You are unkind to press me so.”
+
+“Nay, it is kindest to both of us. Do you then love some other man?”
+
+“I must confess I do,” she murmured, looking at him out of the corners
+of her eyes.
+
+Now Peter, strong as he was, turned faint, and in his agitation let go
+her hand which she lifted, the violets still between her fingers,
+considering it as though it were a new thing to her.
+
+“I have no right to ask you who he is,” he muttered, striving to
+control himself.
+
+“Nay, but, Peter, I will tell you. It is my father—what other man
+should I love?”
+
+“Margaret!” he said in wrath, “you are fooling me.”
+
+“How so? What other man should I love—unless, indeed, it were
+yourself?”
+
+“I can bear no more of this play,” he said. “Mistress Margaret, I bid
+you farewell. God go with you!” And he brushed past her.
+
+“Peter,” she said when he had gone a few yards, “would you have these
+violets as a farewell gift?”
+
+He turned and hesitated.
+
+“Come, then, and take them.”
+
+So back he came, and with little trembling fingers she began to fasten
+the flowers to his doublet, bending ever nearer as she fastened, until
+her breath played upon his face, and her hair brushed his bonnet. Then,
+it matters not how, once more the violets fell to earth, and she
+sighed, and her hands fell also, and he put his strong arms round her
+and drew her to him and kissed her again and yet again on the hair and
+eyes and lips; nor did Margaret forbid him.
+
+At length she thrust him from her and, taking him by the hand, led him
+to the seat beneath the elms, and bade him sit at one end of it, while
+she sat at the other.
+
+“Peter,” she whispered, “I wish to speak with you when I can get my
+breath. Peter, you think poorly of me, do you not? No—be silent; it is
+my turn to talk. You think that I am heartless, and have been playing
+with you. Well, I only did it to make sure that you really do love me,
+since, after that—accident of a while ago (when we were picking up the
+violets, I mean), you would have been in honour bound to say it, would
+you not? Well, now I am quite sure, so I will tell you something. I
+love you many times as well as you love me, and have done so for quite
+as long. Otherwise, should I not have married some other suitor, of
+whom there have been plenty? Aye, and I will tell you this to my sin
+and shame, that once I grew so angry with you because you would not
+speak or give some little sign, that I went near to it. But at the last
+I could not, and sent him about his business also. Peter, when I saw
+you last night facing that swordsman with but a staff, and thought that
+you must die, oh! then I knew all the truth, and my heart was nigh to
+bursting, as, had you died, it would have burst. But now it is all done
+with, and we know each other’s secret, and nothing shall ever part us
+more till death comes to one or both.”
+
+Thus Margaret spoke, while he drank in her words as desert sands,
+parched by years of drought, drink in the rain—and watched her face,
+out of which all mischief and mockery had departed, leaving it that of
+a most beauteous and most earnest woman, to whom a sense of the weight
+of life, with its mingled joys and sorrows, had come home suddenly.
+When she had finished, this silent man, to whom even his great
+happiness brought few words, said only:
+
+“God has been very good to us. Let us thank God.”
+
+So they did, then, even there, seated side by side upon the bench,
+because the grass was too wet for them to kneel on, praying in their
+simple, childlike faith that the Power which had brought them together,
+and taught them to love each other, would bless them in that love and
+protect them from all harms, enemies, and evils through many a long
+year of life.
+
+Their prayer finished, they sat together on the seat, now talking, and
+now silent in their joy, while all too fast the time wore on. At
+length—it was after one of these spells of blissful silence—a change
+came over them, such a change as falls upon some peaceful scene when,
+unexpected and complete, a black stormcloud sweeps across the sun, and,
+in place of its warm light, pours down gloom full of the promise of
+tempest and of rain. Apprehension got a hold of them. They were both
+afraid of what they could not guess.
+
+“Come,” she said, “it is time to go in. My father will miss us.”
+
+So without more words or endearments they rose and walked side by side
+out of the shelter of the elms into the open garden. Their heads were
+bent, for they were lost in thought, and thus it came about that
+Margaret saw her feet pass suddenly into the shadow of a man, and,
+looking up, perceived standing in front of her, grave, alert, amused,
+none other than the Señor d’Aguilar. She uttered a little stifled
+scream, while Peter, with the impulse that causes a brave and startled
+hound to rush at that which frightens it, gave a leap forward towards
+the Spaniard.
+
+“Mother of God! do you take me for a thief?” he asked in a laughing
+voice, as he stepped to one side to avoid him.
+
+“Your pardon,” said Peter, shaking himself together; “but you surprised
+us appearing so suddenly where we never thought to see you.”
+
+“Any more than I thought to see you here, for this seems a strange
+place to linger on so cold a morning,” and he looked at them again with
+his curious, mocking eyes that appeared to read the secret of their
+souls, while they grew red as roses beneath his scrutiny. “Permit me to
+explain,” he went on. “I came here thus early on your service, to warn
+you, Master Peter, not to go abroad to-day, since a writ is out for
+your arrest, and as yet I have had no time to quash it by friendly
+settlement. Well, as it chanced, I met that handsome lady who was with
+you yesterday, returning from her marketing—a friendly soul—she says
+she is your cousin. She brought me to the house, and having learned
+that your father, whom I wished to see, was at his prayers, good man,
+in the old chapel, led me to its door and left me to seek him. I
+entered, but could not find him, so, having waited a while, strayed
+into this garden through the open door, purposing to walk here till
+some one should appear, and, you see, I have been fortunate beyond my
+expectations or deserts.”
+
+“So!” said Peter shortly, for the man’s manner and elaborated
+explanations filled him with disgust. “Let us seek Master Castell that
+he may hear the story.”
+
+“And we thank you much for coming to warn us,” murmured Margaret. “I
+will go find my father,” and she slipped past him towards the door.
+
+d’Aguilar watched her enter it, then turned to Peter and said:
+
+“You English are a hardy folk who take the spring air so early. Well,
+in such company I would do the same. Truly she is a beauteous maiden. I
+have some experience of the sex, but never do I remember one so fair.”
+
+“My cousin is well enough,” answered Peter coldly, for this Spaniard’s
+very evident admiration of Margaret did not please him.
+
+“Yes,” answered d’Aguilar, taking no notice of his tone, “she is well
+enough to fill the place, not of a merchant’s daughter, but of a great
+lady—a countess reigning over towns and lands, or a queen even; the
+royal robes and ornaments would become that carriage and that brow.”
+
+“My cousin seeks no such state who is happy in her quiet lot,” answered
+Peter again; then added quickly, “See, here comes Master Castell
+seeking you.”
+
+d’Aguilar advanced and greeted the merchant courteously, noticing as he
+did so that, notwithstanding his efforts to appear unconcerned, Castell
+seemed ill at ease.
+
+“I am an early visitor,” he said, “but I knew that you business folk
+rise with the lark, and I wished to catch our friend here before he
+went out,” and he repeated to him the reason of his coming.
+
+“I thank you, Señor,” answered Castell. “You are very good to me and
+mine. I am sorry that you have been kept waiting. They tell me that you
+looked for me in the chapel, but I was not there, who had already left
+it for my office.”
+
+“So I found. It is a quaint place, that old chapel of yours, and while
+I waited I went to the altar and told my beads there, which I had no
+time to do before I left my lodgings.”
+
+Castell started almost imperceptibly, and glanced at d’Aguilar with his
+quick eyes, then turned the subject and asked if he would not breakfast
+with them. He declined, however, saying that he must be about their
+business and his own, then promptly proposed that he should come to
+supper on the following night that was—Sunday—and make report how
+things had gone, a suggestion that Castell could not but accept.
+
+So he bowed and smiled himself out of the house, and walked
+thoughtfully into Holborn, for it had pleased him to pay this visit on
+foot, and unattended. At the corner whom should he meet again but the
+tall, fair-haired Betty, returning from some errand which she had found
+it convenient to fulfil just then.
+
+“What,” he said, “you once more! The saints are very kind to me this
+morning. Come, Señora, walk a little way with me, for I would ask you a
+few questions.”
+
+Betty hesitated, then gave way. It was seldom that she found the chance
+of walking through Holborn with such a noble-looking cavalier.
+
+“Never look at your working-dress,” he said.
+
+“With such a shape, what matters the robe that covers it?”—a compliment
+at which Betty blushed, for she was proud of her fine figure.
+
+“Would you like a mantilla of real Spanish lace for your head and
+shoulders? Well, you shall have one that I brought from Spain with me,
+for I know no other lady in the land whom it would become better. But,
+Mistress Betty, you told me wrong about your master. I went to the
+chapel and he was not there.”
+
+“He was there, Señor,” she answered, eager to set herself right with
+this most agreeable and discriminating foreigner, “for I saw him go in
+a moment before, and he did not come out again.”
+
+“Then, Señora, where could he have hidden himself? Has the place a
+crypt?”
+
+“None that I have heard of; but,” she added, “there is a kind of little
+room behind the altar.”
+
+“Indeed. How do you know that? I saw no room.”
+
+“Because one day I heard a voice behind the tapestry, Señor, and,
+lifting it, saw a sliding door left open, and Master Castell kneeling
+before a table and saying his prayers aloud.”
+
+“How strange! And what was there on the table?”
+
+“Only a queer-shaped box of wood like a little house, and two
+candlesticks, and some rolls of parchment. But I forgot, Señor; I
+promised Master Castell to say nothing about that place, for he turned
+and saw me, and came at me like a watchdog out of its kennel. You won’t
+say that I told you, will you, Señor?”
+
+“Not I; your good master’s private cupboard does not interest me. Now I
+want to know something more. Why is that beautiful cousin of yours not
+married? Has she no suitors?”
+
+“Suitors, Señor? Yes, plenty of them, but she sends them all about
+their business, and seems to have no mind that way.”
+
+“Perhaps she is in love with her cousin, that long-legged,
+strong-armed, wooden-headed Master Brome.”
+
+“Oh! no, Señor, I don’t think so; no lady could be in love with him—he
+is too stern and silent.”
+
+“I agree with you, Señora. Then perhaps he is in love with her.”
+
+Betty shook her head, and replied:
+
+“Peter Brome doesn’t think anything of women, Señor. At least he never
+speaks to or of them.”
+
+“Which shows that probably he thinks about them all the more. Well,
+well, it is no affair of ours, is it? Only I am glad to hear that there
+is nothing between them, since your mistress ought to marry high, and
+be a great lady, not a mere merchant’s wife.”
+
+“Yes, Señor. Though Peter Brome is not a merchant, at least by birth,
+he is high-born, and should be Sir Peter Brome if his father had not
+fought on the wrong side and sold his land. He is a soldier, and a very
+brave one, they say, as all might see last night.”
+
+“No doubt, and perhaps would make a great captain, if he had the
+chance, with his stern face and silent tongue. But, Señora Betty, say,
+how comes it that, being so handsome,” and he bowed, “you are not
+married either? I am sure it can be from no lack of suitors.”
+
+Again Betty, foolish girl, flushed with pleasure at the compliment.
+
+“You are right, Señor,” she answered. “I have plenty of them; but I am
+like my cousin—they do not please me. Although my father lost his
+fortune, I come of good blood, and I suppose that is why I do not care
+for these low-born men, and would rather remain as I am than marry one
+of them.”
+
+“You are quite right,” said d’Aguilar in his sympathetic voice. “Do not
+stain your blood. Marry in your own class, or not at all, which,
+indeed, should not be difficult for one so beautiful and charming.” And
+he looked into her large eyes with tender admiration.
+
+This quality, indeed, soon began to demonstrate itself so actively, for
+they were now in the fields where few people wandered, that Betty, who
+although vain was proud and upright, thought it wise to recollect that
+she must be turning homewards. So, in spite of his protests, she left
+him and departed, walking upon air.
+
+How splendid and handsome this foreign gentleman was, she thought to
+herself, really a great cavalier, and surely he admired her truly. Why
+should he not? Such things had often been. Many a rich lady whom she
+knew was not half so handsome or so well born as herself, and would
+make him a worse wife—that is, and the thought chilled her somewhat—if
+he were not already married.
+
+From all of which it will be seen that d’Aguilar had quickly succeeded
+in the plan which only presented itself to him a few hours before.
+Betty was already half in love with him. Not that he had any desire to
+possess this beautiful but foolish woman’s heart, who saw in her only a
+useful tool, a stepping-stone by means of which he might draw near to
+Margaret.
+
+For with Margaret, it may be said at once, he was quite in love. At the
+sight of her sweet yet imperial beauty, as he saw her first,
+dishevelled, angry, frightened, in the crowd outside the king’s
+banqueting-hall, his southern blood had taken sudden fire. Finished
+voluptuary though he was, the sensation he experienced then was quite
+new to him. He longed for this woman as he had never longed for any
+other, and, what is more, he desired to make her his wife. Why not?
+Although there was a flaw in it, his rank was high, and therefore she
+was beneath him; but for this her loveliness would atone, and she had
+wit and learning enough to fill any place that he could give her. Also,
+great as was his wealth, his wanton, spendthrift way of life had
+brought him many debts, and she was the only child of one of the
+richest merchants in England, whose dower, doubtless, would be a
+fortune that many a royal princess might envy. Why not again? He would
+turn Inez and those others adrift—at any rate, for a while—and make her
+mistress of his palace there in Granada. Instantly, as is often the
+fashion of those who have Eastern blood in their veins, d’Aguilar had
+made up his mind, yes, before he left her father’s table on the
+previous night. He would marry Margaret and no other woman.
+
+Yet at once he had seen many difficulties in his path. To begin with,
+he mistrusted him of Peter, that strong, quiet man who could kill a
+great armed knave with his stick, and at a word call half London to his
+side. Peter, he was sure, being human, must be in love with Margaret,
+and he was a rival to be feared. Well, if Margaret had no thoughts of
+Peter, this mattered nothing, and if she had—and what were they doing
+together in the garden that morning?—Peter must be got rid of, that was
+all. It was easy enough if he chose to adopt certain means; there were
+many of those Spanish fellows who would not mind sticking a knife into
+his back in the dark.
+
+But sinful as he was, at such steps his conscience halted. Whatever
+d’Aguilar had done, he had never caused a man to be actually murdered,
+he who was a bigot, who atoned for his misdoings by periods of remorse
+and prayer, in which he placed his purse and talents at the service of
+the Church, as he was doing at this moment. No, murder must not be
+thought of; for how could any absolution wash him clean of that stain?
+But there were other ways. For instance, had not this Peter, in
+self-defence it is true, killed one of the servants of an ambassador of
+Spain? Perhaps, however, it would not be necessary to make use of them.
+It had seemed to him that the lady was not ill pleased with him, and,
+after all, he had much to offer. He would court her fairly, and if he
+were rejected by her, or by her father, then it would be time enough to
+act. Meanwhile, he would keep the sword hanging over the head of Peter,
+pretending that it was he alone who had prevented it from falling, and
+learn all that he could as to Castell and his history.
+
+Here, indeed, Fortune, in the shape of the foolish Betty, had favoured
+him. Without a doubt, as he had heard in Spain, and been sure from the
+moment that he first saw him, Castell was still secretly a Jew.
+Mistress Betty’s story of the room behind the altar, with the ark and
+the candles and the rolls of the Law, proved as much. At least here was
+evidence enough to send him to the fires of the Inquisition in Spain,
+and, perhaps, to drive him out of England. Now, if John Castell, the
+Spanish Jew, should not wish, for any reason, to give him his daughter
+in marriage, would not a hint and an extract from the Commissions of
+their Majesties of Spain and the Holy Father suffice to make him change
+his mind?
+
+Thus pondering, d’Aguilar regained his lodgings, where his first task
+was to enter in a book all that Betty had told him, and all that he had
+observed in the house of John Castell.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+CASTELL’S SECRET.
+
+
+In John Castell’s house it was the habit, as in most others in those
+days, for his dependents, clerks, and shopmen to eat their morning and
+mid-day meals with him in the hall, seated at two lower tables, all of
+them save Betty, his daughter’s cousin and companion, who sat with them
+at the upper board. This morning Betty’s place was empty, and presently
+Castell, lifting his eyes, for he was lost in thought, noted it, and
+asked where she might be—a question that neither Margaret nor Peter
+could answer.
+
+One of the servants at the lower table, however—it was that man who had
+been sent to follow d’Aguilar on the previous night—said that as he
+came down Holborn a while before he had seen her walking with the
+Spanish don, a saying at which his master looked grave.
+
+Just as they were finishing their meal, a very silent one, for none of
+them seemed to have anything to say, and after the servants had left
+the hall, Betty arrived, flushed as though with running.
+
+“Where have you been that you are so late?” asked Castell.
+
+“To seek the linen for the new sheets, but it was not ready,” she
+answered glibly. “The mercer kept you waiting long,” remarked Castell
+quietly. “Did you meet any one?”
+
+“Only the folk in the street.”
+
+“I will ask you no more questions, lest I should cause you to lie and
+bring you into sin,” said Castell sternly. “Girl, how far did you walk
+with the Señor d’Aguilar, and what was your business with him?”
+
+Now Betty knew that she had been seen, and that it was useless to deny
+the truth.
+
+“Only a little way,” she answered, “and that because he prayed me to
+show him his path.”
+
+“Listen, Betty,” went on Castell, taking no notice of her words. “You
+are old enough to guard yourself, therefore as to your walking abroad
+with gallants who can mean you no good I say nothing. But know this—no
+one who has knowledge of the matters of my house,” and he looked at her
+keenly, “shall mix with any Spaniard. If you are found alone with this
+señor any more, that hour I have done with you, and you never pass my
+door again. Nay, no words. Take your food and eat it elsewhere.”
+
+So she departed half weeping, but very angry, for Betty was strong and
+obstinate by nature. When she had gone, Margaret, who was fond of her
+cousin, tried to say some words on her behalf; but her father stopped
+her.
+
+“Pshaw!” he said, “I know the girl; she is vain as a peacock, and,
+remembering her gentle birth and good looks, seeks to marry above her
+station; while for some purpose of his own—an ill one, I’ll warrant—
+that Spaniard plays upon her weakness, which, if it be not curbed, may
+bring trouble on us all. Now, enough of Betty Dene; I must to my work.”
+
+“Sir,” said Peter, speaking for the first time, “we would have a
+private word with you.”
+
+“A private word,” he said, looking up anxiously. “Well, speak on. No,
+this place is not private; I think its walls have ears. Follow me,” and
+he led the way into the old chapel, whereof, when they had all passed
+it, he bolted the door. “Now,” he said, “what is it?”
+
+“Sir,” answered Peter, standing before him, “having your leave at last,
+I asked your daughter in marriage this morning.”
+
+“At least you lose no time, friend Peter; unless you had called her
+from her bed and made your offer through the door you could not have
+done it quicker. Well, well, you ever were a man of deeds, not words,
+and what says my Margaret?”
+
+“An hour ago she said she was content,” answered Peter.
+
+“A cautious man also,” went on Castell with a twinkle in his eye, “who
+remembers that women have been known to change their minds within an
+hour. After such long thought, what say you now, Margaret?”
+
+“That I am angry with Peter,” she answered, stamping her small foot,
+“for if he does not trust me for an hour, how can he trust me for his
+life and mine?”
+
+“Nay, Margaret, you do not understand me,” said Peter. “I wished not to
+bind you, that is all, in case——”
+
+“Now you are saying it again,” she broke in vexed, and yet amused. “Do
+so a third time, and I will take you at your word.”
+
+“It seems best that I should remain silent. Speak you,” said Peter
+humbly.
+
+“Aye, for truly you are a master of silence, as I should know, if any
+do,” replied Margaret, bethinking her of the weary months and years of
+waiting. “Well, I will answer for you.—Father, Peter was right; I am
+content to marry him, though to do so will be to enter the Order of the
+Silent Brothers. Yes, I am content; not for himself, indeed, who has so
+many faults, but for myself, who chance to love him,” and she smiled
+sweetly enough.
+
+“Do not jest on such matters, Margaret.”
+
+“Why not, father? Peter is solemn enough for both of us—look at him.
+Let us laugh while we may, for who knows when tears may come?”
+
+“A good saying,” answered Castell with a sigh. “So you two have
+plighted your troth, and, my children, I am glad of it, for who knows
+when those tears of which Margaret spoke may come, and then you can
+wipe away each other’s? Take now her hand, Peter, and swear by the
+Rood, that symbol which you worship”—here Peter glanced at him, but he
+went on—“swear, both of you that come what may, together or separate,
+through good report or evil report, through poverty or wealth, through
+peace or persecutions, through temptation or through blood, through
+every good or ill that can befall you in this world of bittersweet, you
+will remain faithful to your troth until you be wed, and after you are
+wed, faithful to each other till death do part you.”
+
+These words he spoke to them in a voice that was earnest almost to
+passion, searching their faces the while with his quick eyes as though
+he would read their very hearts. His mood crept from him to them; once
+again they felt something of that fear which had fallen on them in the
+garden when they passed into the shadow of the Spaniard. Very solemnly
+then, and with little of true lovers’ joy, did they take each other’s
+hands and swear by the Cross and Him Who hung on it, that through these
+things, and all others they could not foretell, they would, if need
+were, be faithful to the death.
+
+“And beyond it also,” added Peter; while Margaret bowed her stately
+head in sweet assent.
+
+“Children,” said Castell, “you will be rich—few richer in this
+land—though mayhap it would be wise that you should not show all your
+wealth at once, or ape the place of a great house, lest envy should
+fall upon your heads and crush you. Be content to wait, and rank will
+find you in its season, or if not you, your children. Peter, I tell you
+now, lest I should forget it, that the list of all my moneys and other
+possessions in chattels or lands or ships or merchandise is buried
+beneath the floor of my office, just under where my chair stands. Lift
+the boards and dig away a foot of rubbish, and you will find a stone
+trap, and below an iron box with the deeds, inventories, and some very
+precious jewels. Also, if by any mischance that box should be lost,
+duplicates of nearly all these papers are in the hands of my good
+friend and partner in our inland British trade, Simon Levett, whom you
+know. Remember my words, both of you.”
+
+“Father,” broke in Margaret in an anxious voice, “why do you speak of
+the future thus?—I mean, as though you had no share in it? Do you fear
+aught?”
+
+“Yes, daughter, much, or rather I expect, I do not fear, who am
+prepared and desire to meet all things as they come. You have sworn
+that oath, have you not? And you will keep it, will you not?”
+
+“Aye!” they answered with one breath.
+
+“Then prepare you to feel the weight of the first of those trials
+whereof it speaks, for I will no longer hold back the truth from you.
+Children, I, whom for all these years you have thought of your own
+faith, am a Jew as my forefathers were before me, back to the days of
+Abraham.”
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+Castell declares himself a Jew
+
+The effect of this declaration upon its hearers was remarkable. Peter’s
+jaw dropped, and for the second time that day his face went white;
+while Margaret sank down into a chair that stood near by, and stared at
+him helplessly. In those times it was a very terrible thing to be a
+Jew. Castell looked from one to the other, and, feeling the insult of
+their silence, grew angry.
+
+“What!” he exclaimed in a bitter voice, “are you like all the others?
+Do you scorn me also because I am of a race more ancient and honourable
+than those of any of your mushroom lords and kings? You know my life:
+say, what have I done wrong? Have I caught Christian children and
+crucified them to death? Have I defrauded my neighbour or oppressed the
+poor? Have I mocked your symbol of the Host? Have I conspired against
+the rulers of this land? Have I been a false friend or a cruel father?
+You shake your heads; then why do you stare at me as though I were a
+thing accursed and unclean? Have I not a right to the faith of my
+fathers? May I not worship God in my own fashion?” And he looked at
+Peter, a challenge in his eyes. “Sir,” answered Peter, “without a doubt
+you may, or so it seems to me. But then, why for all these years have
+you appeared to worship Him in ours?”
+
+At this blunt question, so characteristic of the speaker, Castell
+seemed to shrink like a pin-pricked bladder, or some bold fighter who
+has suddenly received a sword-thrust in his vitals. All courage went
+out of the man, his fiery eyes grew tame, he appeared to become visibly
+smaller, and to put on something of the air of those mendicants of his
+own race, who whine out their woes and beg alms of the passer-by. When
+next he spoke, it was as a suppliant for merciful judgment at the hands
+of his own child and her lover.
+
+“Judge me not harshly,” he said. “Think what it is to be a Jew—an
+outcast, a thing that the lowest may spurn and spit at, one beyond the
+law, one who can be hunted from land to land like a mad wolf, and
+tortured to death, when caught, for the sport of gentle Christians, who
+first have stripped him of his gains and very garments. And then think
+what it means to escape all these woes and terrors, and, by the doffing
+of a bonnet, and the mumbling of certain prayers with the lips in
+public, to find sanctuary, peace, and protection within the walls of
+Mother Church, and thus fostered, to grow rich and great.”
+
+He paused as though for a reply, but as they did not speak, went on:
+
+“Moreover, as a child, I was baptized into your Church; but my heart,
+like that of my father, remained with the Jews, and where the heart
+goes the feet follow.”
+
+“That makes it worse,” said Peter, as though speaking to himself.
+
+“My father taught me thus,” Castell went on, as though pleading his
+case before a court of law.
+
+“We must answer for our own sins,” said Peter again.
+
+Then at length Castell took fire.
+
+“You young folk, who as yet know little of the terrors of the world,
+reproach me with cold looks and colder words,” he said; “but I wonder,
+should you ever come to such a pass as mine, whether you will find the
+heart to meet it half as bravely? Why do you think that I have told you
+this secret, that I might have kept from you as I kept it from your
+mother, Margaret? I say because it is a part of my penance for the sin
+which I have sinned. Aye, I know well that my God is a jealous God, and
+that this sin will fall back on my head, and that I shall pay its price
+to the last groat, though when and how the blow will strike me I know
+not. Go you, Peter, or you, Margaret, and denounce me if you will. Your
+priests will speak well of you for the deed, and open to you a shorter
+road to Heaven, and I shall not blame you, nor lessen your wealth by a
+single golden noble.”
+
+“Do not speak so madly, Sir,” said Peter; “these matters are between
+you and God. What have we to do with them, and who made us judges over
+you? We only pray that your fears may come to nothing, and that you may
+reach your grave in peace and honour.”
+
+“I thank you for your generous words, which are such as befit your
+nature,” said Castell gently; “but what says Margaret?”
+
+“I, father?” she answered, wildly. “Oh! I have nothing to say. He is
+right. It is between you and God; but it is hard that I must lose my
+love so soon.” Peter looked up, and Castell answered:
+
+“Lose him! Why, what did he swear but now?”
+
+“I care not what he swore; but how can I ask him, who is of noble,
+Christian birth, to marry the daughter of a Jew who all his life has
+passed himself off as a worshipper of that Jesus Whom he denies?”
+
+Now Peter held up his hand.
+
+“Have done with such talk,” he said. “Were your father Judas himself,
+what is that to you and me? You are mine and I am yours till death part
+us, nor shall the faith of another man stand between us for an hour.
+Sir, we thank you for your confidence, and of this be sure, that
+although it makes us sorrowful, we do not love or honour you the less
+because now we know the truth.”
+
+Margaret rose from her chair, looked a while at her father, then with a
+sob threw herself suddenly upon his breast.
+
+“Forgive me if I spoke bitterly,” she said, “who, not knowing that I
+was half a Jewess, have been taught to hate their race. What is it to
+me of what faith you are, who think of you only as my dearest father?”
+
+“Why weep then?” asked Castell, stroking her hair tenderly.
+
+“Because you are in danger, or so you say, and if anything happened to
+you—oh! what shall I do then?”
+
+“Accept it as the will of God, and bear the blow bravely, as I hope to
+do, should it fall,” he answered, and, kissing her, left the chapel.
+
+“It seems that joy and trouble go hand in hand,” said Margaret, looking
+up presently.
+
+“Yes, Sweet, they were ever twins; but provided we have our share of
+the first, do not let us quarrel with the second. A pest on the priests
+and all their bigotry, say I! Christ sought to convert the Jews, not to
+kill them; and for my part I can honour the man who clings to his own
+faith, aye, and forgive him because they forced him to feign to belong
+to ours. Pray then that neither of us may live to commit a greater sin,
+and that we may soon be wed and dwell in peace away from London, where
+we can shelter him.”
+
+“I do—I do,” she answered, drawing close to Peter, and soon they forgot
+their fears and doubts in each other’s arms.
+
+On the following morning, that of Sunday, Peter, Margaret, and Betty
+went together to Mass at St. Paul’s church; but Castell said that he
+was ill, and did not come. Indeed, now that his conscience was stirred
+as to the double life he had led so long, he purposed, if he could
+avoid it, to worship in a Christian church no more. Therefore he said
+that he was sick; and they, knowing that this sickness was of the
+heart, answered nothing. But privately they wondered what he would do
+who could not always remain sick, since not to go to church and partake
+of its Sacraments was to be published as a heretic.
+
+But if he did not accompany them himself, Castell, without their
+knowledge, sent two of his stoutest servants, bidding these keep near
+to them and see that they came home safe.
+
+Now, when they left the church, Peter saw two Spaniards, whose faces he
+thought he knew, who seemed to be watching them, but, as he lost sight
+of them presently in the throng, said nothing. Their shortest way home
+ran across some fields and gardens where there were few houses. This
+lane, then, they followed, talking earnestly to each other, and noting
+nothing till Betty behind called out to them to beware. Then Peter
+looked up and saw the two Spaniards scrambling through a gap in the
+fence not six paces ahead of them, saw also that they laid their hands
+upon their sword-hilts.
+
+“Let us pass them boldly,” he muttered to Margaret; “I’ll not turn my
+back on a brace of Spaniards,” but he also laid his hand upon the hilt
+of the sword he wore beneath his cloak, and bade her get behind him.
+
+Thus, then, they came face to face. Now, the Spaniards, who were
+evil-looking fellows, bowed courteously enough, and asked if he were
+not Master Peter Brome. They spoke in Spanish; but, like Margaret Peter
+knew this tongue, if not too well, having been taught it as a child,
+and practised it much since he came into the service of John Castell,
+who used it largely in his trade.
+
+“Yes,” he answered. “What is your business with me?”
+
+“We have a message for you, Señor, from a certain comrade of ours, one
+Andrew, a Scotchman, whom you met a few nights ago,” replied the
+spokesman of the pair. “He is dead, but still he sends his message, and
+it is that we should ask you to join him at once. Now, all of us
+brothers have sworn to deliver that message, and to see that you keep
+the tryst. If some of us should chance to fail, then others will meet
+you with the message until you keep that tryst.”
+
+“You mean that you wish to murder me,” said Peter, setting his mouth
+and drawing the sword from beneath his cloak. “Well, come on, cowards,
+and we will see whom Andrew gets for company in hell to-day. Run back,
+Margaret and Betty—run.” And he tore off his cloak and threw it over
+his left arm.
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+“You mean that you wish to murder me”
+
+So for a moment they stood, for he looked fierce and ill to deal with.
+Then, just as they began to feint in front of him, there came a rush of
+feet, and on either side of Peter appeared the two stout serving-men,
+also sword in hand.
+
+“I am glad of your company,” he said, catching sight of them out of the
+corners of his eyes. “Now, Señors Cut-throats, do you still wish to
+deliver that message?”
+
+The answer of the Spaniards, who saw themselves thus unexpectedly
+out-matched, was to turn and run, whereon one of the serving-men,
+picking up a big stone that lay in the path, hurled it after them with
+all his force. It struck the hindmost Spaniard full in the back, and so
+heavy was the blow that he fell on to his face in the mud, whence he
+rose and limped away, cursing them with strange, Spanish oaths, and
+vowing vengeance.
+
+“Now,” said Peter, “I think that we may go home in safety, for no more
+messengers will come from Andrew to-day.”
+
+“No,” gasped Margaret, “not to-day, but to-morrow or the next day they
+will come, and oh! how will it end?”
+
+“That God knows alone,” answered Peter gravely as he sheathed his
+sword.
+
+When the story of this attempt was told to Castell he seemed much
+disturbed.
+
+“It is clear that they have a blood-feud against you on account of that
+Scotchman whom you killed in self-defence,” he said anxiously. “Also
+these Spaniards are very revengeful, nor have they forgiven you for
+calling the English to your aid against them. Peter, I fear that if you
+go abroad they will murder you.”
+
+“Well, I cannot stay indoors always, like a rat in a drain,” said Peter
+crossly, “so what is to be done? Appeal to the law?”
+
+“No; for you have just broken the law by killing a man. I think you had
+best go away for a while till this storm blows over.”
+
+“Go away! Peter go away?” broke in Margaret, dismayed.
+
+“Yes,” answered her father. “Listen, daughter. You cannot be married at
+once. It is not seemly; moreover, notice must be given and arrangement
+made. A month hence will be soon enough, and that is not long for you
+to wait who only became affianced yesterday. Also, until you are wed,
+no word must be said to any one of this betrothal of yours, lest those
+Spaniards should lay their feud at your door also, and work you some
+mischief. Let none know of it, I charge you, and in company be distant
+to each other, as though there were nothing between you.”
+
+“As you will, Sir,” replied Peter; “but for my part I do not like all
+these hidings of the truth, which ever lead to future trouble. I say,
+let me bide here and take my chance, and let us be wed as soon as may
+be.”
+
+“That your wife may be made a widow before the week is out, or the
+house burnt about our ears by these rascals and their following? No,
+no, Peter; walk softly that you may walk safely. We will hear the
+report of the Spaniard d’Aguilar, and afterwards take counsel.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+FAREWELL.
+
+
+D’Aguilar came to supper that night as he had promised, and this time
+not on foot and unattended, but with pomp and circumstance as befitted
+a great lord. First appeared two running footmen to clear the way; then
+followed D’Aguilar, mounted on a fine white horse, and splendidly
+apparelled in a velvet cloak and a hat with nodding ostrich plumes,
+while after him rode four men-at-arms in his livery.
+
+“We asked one guest, or rather he asked himself, and we have got seven,
+to say nothing of their horses,” grumbled Castell, watching their
+approach from an upper window. “Well, we must make the best of it.
+Peter, go, see that man and beast are fed, and fully, that they may not
+grumble at our hospitality. The guard can eat in the little hall with
+our own folk. Margaret, put on your richest robe and your jewels, those
+which you wore when I took you to that city feast last summer. We will
+show these fine, foreign birds that we London merchants have brave
+feathers also.”
+
+Peter hesitated, misdoubting him of the wisdom of this display, who, if
+he could have his will, would have sent the Spaniard’s following to the
+tavern, and received him in sober garments to a simple meal.
+
+But Castell, who seemed somewhat disturbed that night, who loved,
+moreover, to show his wealth at times after the fashion of a Jew, began
+to fume and ask if he must go himself. So the end of it was that Peter
+went, shaking his head, while, urged to it by her father, Margaret
+departed also to array herself.
+
+A few minutes later Castell, in his costliest feast-day robe, greeted
+d’Aguilar in the ante-hall, and, the two of them being alone, asked him
+how matters went as regarded de Ayala and the man who had been killed.
+
+“Well and ill,” answered d’Aguilar. “Doctor de Puebla, with whom I
+hoped to deal, has left London in a huff, for he says that there is not
+room for two Spanish ambassadors at Court, so I had to fall back upon
+de Ayala after all. Indeed, twice have I seen that exalted priest upon
+the subject of the well-deserved death of his villainous servant, and,
+after much difficulty, for having lost several men in such brawls, he
+thought his honour touched, he took the fifty gold angels—to be
+transmitted to the fellow’s family, of course, or so he said—and gave a
+receipt. Here it is,” and he handed a paper to Castell, who read it
+carefully.
+
+It was to the effect that Peter Brome, having paid a sum of fifty
+angels to the relatives of Andrew Pherson, a servant of the Spanish
+ambassador, which Andrew the said Peter had killed in a brawl, the said
+ambassador undertook not to prosecute or otherwise molest the said
+Peter on account of the manslaughter which he had committed.
+
+“But no money has been paid,” said Castell.
+
+“Indeed yes, I paid it. De Ayala gives no receipts against promises.”
+
+“I thank you for your courtesy, Señor. You shall have the gold before
+you leave this house. Few would have trusted a stranger thus far.”
+
+d’Aguilar waved his hand.
+
+“Make no mention of such a trifle. I would ask you to accept it as a
+token of my regard for your family, only that would be to affront so
+wealthy a man. But listen, I have more to say. You are, or rather your
+kinsman Peter, is still in the wood. De Ayala has pardoned him; but
+there remains the King of England, whose law he has broken. Well, this
+day I have seen the King, who, by the way, talked of you as a worthy
+man, saying that he had always thought only a Jew could be so wealthy,
+and that he knew you were not, since you had been reported to him as a
+good son of the Church,” and he paused, looking at Castell.
+
+“I fear his Grace magnifies my wealth, which is but small,” answered
+Castell coolly, leaving the rest of his speech unnoticed. “But what
+said his Grace?”
+
+“I showed him de Ayala’s receipt, and he answered that if his
+Excellency was satisfied, he was satisfied, and for his part would not
+order any process to issue; but he bade me tell you and Peter Brome
+that if he caused more tumult in his streets, whatever the provocation,
+and especially if that tumult were between English and Spaniards, he
+would hang him at once with trial or without it. All of which he said
+very angrily, for the last thing which his Highness desires just now is
+any noise between Spain and England.”
+
+“That is bad,” answered Castell, “for this very morning there was near
+to being such a tumult,” and he told the story of how the two Spaniards
+had waylaid Peter, and one of them been knocked down by the serving-man
+with a stone. At this news d’Aguilar shook his head.
+
+“Then that is just where the trouble lies,” he exclaimed. “I know it
+from my people, who keep me well informed, that all those servants of
+de Ayala, and there are more than twenty of them, have sworn an oath by
+the Virgin of Seville that before they leave this land they will have
+your kinsman’s blood in payment for that of Andrew Pherson, who,
+although a Scotchman, was their officer, and a brave man whom they
+loved much. Now, if they attack him, as they will, there must be a
+brawl, for Peter fights well, and if there is a brawl, though Peter and
+the English get the best of it, as very likely they may, Peter will
+certainly be hanged, for so the King has promised.”
+
+“Before they leave the land? When do they leave it?”
+
+“De Ayala sails within a month, and his folk with him, for his
+co-ambassador, the Doctor de Puebla, will bear with him no more, and
+has written from the country house where he is sulking that one of them
+must go.”
+
+“Then I think it is best, Señor, that Peter should travel for a month.”
+
+“Friend Castell, you are wise; I think so too, and, I counsel you,
+arrange it at once. Hush! here comes the lady, your daughter.”
+
+As he spoke, Margaret appeared descending the broad oak stairs which
+led into the ante-room. Holding a lamp in her hand, she was in full
+light, whereas the two men stood in the shadow. She wore a low-cut
+dress of crimson velvet, embroidered about the bodice with dead gold,
+which enhanced the dazzling whiteness of her shapely neck and bosom.
+Round her throat hung a string of great pearls, and on her head was a
+net of gold, studded with smaller pearls, from beneath which her
+glorious, chestnut-black hair flowed down in rippling waves almost to
+her knees. Having her father’s bidding so to do, she had adorned
+herself thus that she might look her fairest, not in the eyes of their
+guest, but in those of her new-affianced husband. So fair was she seen
+thus that d’Aguilar, the artist, the adorer of loveliness, caught his
+breath and shivered at the sight of her.
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+Margaret appeared descending the broad oak stairs
+
+“By the eleven thousand virgins!” he said, “your daughter is more
+beautiful than all of them put together. She should be crowned a queen,
+and bewitch the world.”
+
+“Nay, nay, Señor,” answered Castell hurriedly; “let her remain humble
+and honest, and bewitch her husband.”
+
+“So I should say if I were the husband,” he muttered, then stepped
+forward, bowing, to meet her.
+
+Now the light of the silver lamp she held on high flowed over the two
+of them, d’Aguilar and Margaret, and certainly they seemed a
+well-matched pair. Both were tall and cast by Nature in a rich and
+splendid mould; both had that high air of breeding which comes with
+ancient blood—for what bloods are more ancient than those of the Jew
+and the Eastern?—both were slow and stately of movement, low-voiced,
+and dignified of speech. Castell noted it and was afraid, he knew not
+of what.
+
+Peter, entering the room by another door, clad only in his grey
+clothes, for he would not put on gay garments for the Spaniard, noted
+it also, and with the quick instinct of love knew this magnificent
+foreigner for a rival and an enemy. But he was not afraid, only jealous
+and angry. Indeed, nothing would have pleased him better then than that
+the Spaniard should have struck him in the face, so that within five
+minutes it might be shown which of them was the better man. It must
+come to this, he felt, and very glad would he have been if it could
+come at the beginning and not at the end, so that one or the other of
+them might be saved much trouble. Then he remembered that he had
+promised to say or show nothing of how things stood between him and
+Margaret, and, coming forward, he greeted d’Aguilar quietly but coldly,
+telling him that his horses had been stabled, and his retinue
+accommodated.
+
+The Spaniard thanked him very heartily, and they passed in to supper.
+It was a strange meal for all four of them, yet outwardly pleasant
+enough. Forgetting his cares, Castell drank gaily, and began to talk of
+the many changes which he had seen in his life, and of the rise and
+fall of kings. d’Aguilar talked also, of the Spanish wars and policy,
+for in the first he had seen much service, and of the other he knew
+every turn. It was easy to see that he was one of those who mixed with
+courts, and had the ear of ministers and majesty. Margaret also, being
+keen-witted and anxious to learn of the great world that lay beyond
+Holborn and London town, asked questions, seeking to know, amongst
+other things, what were the true characters of Ferdinand, King of
+Aragon, and Isabella his wife, the famous queen.
+
+“I will tell you in few words, Señora. Ferdinand is the most ambitious
+man in Europe, false also if it serves his purpose. He lives for self
+and gain—that is, money and power. These are his gods, for he has no
+true religion. He is not clever but, being very cunning, he will
+succeed and leave a famous name behind him.”
+
+“An ugly picture,” said Margaret. “And what of his queen?”
+
+“She,” answered d’Aguilar, “is a great woman, who knows how to use the
+temper of her time and so attain her ends. To the world she shows a
+tender heart, but beneath it lies hid an iron resolution.”
+
+“What are those ends?” asked Margaret again.
+
+“To bring all Spain under her rule; utterly to crush the Moors and take
+their territories; to make the Church of Christ triumphant upon earth;
+to stamp out heresy; to convert or destroy the Jews,” he added slowly,
+and as he spoke the words, Peter, watching, saw his eyes open and
+glitter like a snake’s—“to bring their bodies to the purifying flames,
+and their vast wealth into her treasury, and thus earn the praise of
+the faithful upon earth, and for herself a throne in heaven.”
+
+For a while there was silence after this speech, then Margaret said
+boldly:
+
+“If heavenly thrones are built of human blood and tears, what stone and
+mortar do they use in hell, I wonder?” Then, without pausing for an
+answer, she rose, saying that she was weary, curtseyed to d’Aguilar,
+her father and Peter, each in turn, and left the hall.
+
+When she had gone the talk flagged, and presently d’Aguilar asked for
+his men and horses and departed also, saying as he went:
+
+“Friend Castell, you will repeat my news to your good kinsman here. I
+pray for all your sakes that he may bow his head to what cannot be
+helped, and thus keep it safe upon his shoulders.”
+
+“What meant the man?” asked Peter, when the sound of the horses’ hoofs
+had died away.
+
+Castell told him of what had passed between him and d’Aguilar before
+supper, and showed him de Ayala’s receipt, adding in a vexed voice:
+
+“I have forgotten to repay him the gold; it shall be sent to-morrow.”
+
+“Have no fear; he will come for it,” answered Peter coldly. “Now, if I
+have my way, I will take the risk of these Spaniards’ swords and King
+Henry’s rope, and bide here.”
+
+“That you must not do,” said Castell earnestly, “for my sake and
+Margaret’s, if not for yours. Would you make her a widow before she is
+a wife? Listen: it is my wish that you travel down to Essex to take
+delivery of your father’s land in the Vale of Dedham and see to the
+repairing of the mansion house, which, I am told, needs it much. Then,
+when these Spaniards are gone, you can return and at once be married,
+say one short month hence.”
+
+“Will not you and Margaret come with me to Dedham?”
+
+Castell shook his head.
+
+“It is not possible. I must wind up my affairs, and Margaret cannot go
+with you alone. Moreover, there is no place for her to lodge. I will
+keep her here till you return.”
+
+“Yes, Sir; but will you keep her safe? The cozening words of Spaniards
+are sometimes more deadly than their swords.”
+
+“I think that Margaret has a medicine against all such arts,” answered
+her father with a little smile, and left him.
+
+On the morrow when Castell told Margaret that her lover must leave her
+for a while that night—for this Peter would not do himself—she prayed
+him even with tears that he would not send him so far from her, or that
+they might all go together. But he reasoned with her kindly, showing
+her that the latter was impossible, and that if Peter did not go at
+once it was probable that Peter would soon be dead, whereas, if he
+went, there would be but one short month of waiting till the Spaniards
+had sailed, after which they might be married and live in peace and
+safety.
+
+So she came to see that this was best and wisest, and gave way; but oh!
+heavy were those hours, and sore was their parting. Essex was no far
+journey, and to enter into lands which only two days before Peter
+believed he had lost for ever, no sad errand, while the promise that at
+the end of a single month he should return to claim his bride hung
+before them like a star. Yet they were sad-hearted, both of them, and
+that star seemed very far away.
+
+Margaret was afraid lest Peter might be waylaid upon the road, but he
+laughed at her, saying that her father was sending six stout men with
+him as an escort, and thus companioned he feared no Spaniards. Peter,
+for his part, was afraid lest d’Aguilar might make love to her while he
+was away. But now she laughed at him, saying that all her heart was
+his, and that she had none to give to d’Aguilar or any other man.
+Moreover, that England was a free land in which women, who were no
+king’s wards, could not be led whither they did not wish to go. So it
+seemed that they had naught to fear, save the daily chance of life and
+death. And yet they were afraid.
+
+“Dear love,” said Margaret to him after she had thought a while, “our
+road looks straight and easy, and yet there may be pitfalls in it that
+we cannot guess. Therefore you must swear one thing to me: That
+whatever you shall hear or whatever may happen, you will never doubt me
+as I shall never doubt you. If, for instance, you should be told that I
+have discarded you, and given myself to some other husband; if even you
+should believe that you see it signed by my hand, or if you think that
+you hear it told to you by my voice—still, I say, believe it not.”
+
+“How could such a thing be?” asked Peter anxiously.
+
+“I do not suppose that it could be; I only paint the worst that might
+happen as a lesson for us both. Heretofore my life has been calm as a
+summer’s day; but who knows when winter storms may rise, and often I
+have thought that I was born to know wind and rain and lightning as
+well as peace and sunshine. Remember that my father is a Jew, and that
+to the Jews and their children terrible things chance at times. Why,
+all this wealth might vanish in an hour, and you might find me in a
+prison, or clad in rags begging my bread. Now do you swear?” and she
+held towards him the gold crucifix that hung upon her bosom.
+
+“Aye,” he said, “I swear it by this holy token and by your lips,” and
+he kissed first the cross and then her mouth, adding, “Shall I ask the
+same oath of you?”
+
+She laughed.
+
+“If you will; but it is not needful. Peter, I think that I know you too
+well; I think that your heart will never stir even if I be dead and you
+married to another. And yet men are men, and women have wiles, so I
+will swear this: That should you slip, perchance, and I live to learn
+it, I will try not to judge you harshly.” And again she laughed, she
+who was so certain of her empire over this man’s heart and body.
+
+“Thank you,” said Peter; “but for my part I will try to stand straight
+upon my feet, so should any tales be brought to you of me, sift them
+well, I pray you.”
+
+Then, forgetting their doubts and dreads, they talked of their
+marriage, which they fixed for that day month, and of how they would
+dwell happily in Dedham Vale. Also Margaret, who well knew the house,
+named the Old Hall, where they should live, for she had stayed there as
+a child, gave him many commands as to the new arrangement of its
+chambers and its furnishing, which, as there was money and to spare,
+could be as costly as they willed, saying that she would send him down
+all things by wain so soon as he was ready for them.
+
+Thus, then, the hours wore away, until at length night came and they
+took their last meal together, the three of them, for it was arranged
+that Peter should start at moonrise, when none were about to see him
+go. It was not a very happy meal, and, though they made a brave show of
+eating, but little food passed their lips. Now the horses were ready,
+and Margaret buckled on Peter’s sword and threw his cloak about his
+shoulders, and he, having shaken Castell by the hand and bade him guard
+their jewel safely, without more words kissed her in farewell, and
+went.
+
+Taking the silver lamp in her hand, she followed him to the ante-room.
+At the door he turned and saw her standing there gazing after him with
+wide eyes and a strained, white face. At the sight of her silent pain
+almost his heart failed him, almost he refused to go. Then he
+remembered, and went.
+
+For a while Margaret still stood thus, until the sound of the horses’
+hoofs had died away indeed. Then she turned and said:
+
+“Father, I know not how it is, but it seems to me that when Peter and I
+meet again it will be far off, yes, far off upon the stormy sea—but
+what sea I know not.” And without waiting for an answer she climbed the
+stairs to her chamber, and there wept herself to sleep.
+
+Castell watched her depart, then muttered to himself:
+
+“Pray God she is not foresighted like so many of our race; and yet why
+is my own heart so heavy? Well, according to my judgment, I have done
+my best for him and her, and for myself I care nothing.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+NEWS FROM SPAIN.
+
+
+Peter Brome was a very quiet man, whose voice was not often heard about
+the place, and yet it was strange how dull and different the big, old
+house in Holborn seemed without him. Even the handsome Betty, with whom
+he was never on the best of terms, since there was much about her of
+which he disapproved, missed him, and said so to her cousin, who only
+answered with a sigh. For in the bottom of her heart Betty both feared
+and respected Peter. The fear was of his observant eyes and caustic
+words, which she knew were always words of truth, and the respect for
+the general uprightness of his character, especially where her own sex
+was concerned.
+
+In fact, as has been hinted, some little time before, when Peter had
+first come to live with the Castells, Betty, thinking him a proper man
+of gentle birth, such a one indeed as she would wish to marry, had made
+advances to him, which, as he did not seem to notice them, became by
+degrees more and more marked. What happened at last they two knew
+alone, but it was something that caused Betty to become very angry, and
+to speak of Peter to her friends as a cold-blooded lout who thought
+only of work and gain. The episode was passing, and soon forgotten by
+the lady in the press of other affairs; but the respect remained.
+Moreover, on one or two occasions, when the love of admiration had led
+her into griefs, Peter had proved a good friend, and what was better, a
+friend who did not talk. Therefore she wished him back again,
+especially now, when something that was more than mere vanity and
+desire for excitement had taken hold of her, and Betty found herself
+being swept off her feet into very deep and doubtful waters.
+
+The shopmen and the servants missed him also, for to him all disputes
+were brought for settlement, nor, provided it had not come about
+through lack of honesty, were any pains too great for him to take to
+help them in a trouble. Most of all Castell missed him, since until
+Peter had gone he did not know how much he had learned to rely upon
+him, both in his business and as a friend. As for Margaret, her life
+without him was one long, empty night.
+
+Thus it chanced that in such a house any change was welcome, and,
+though she liked him little enough, Margaret was not even displeased
+when one morning Betty told her that the lord d’Aguilar was coming to
+call on her that day, and purposed to bring her a present.
+
+“I do not seek his presents,” said Margaret indifferently; then added,
+“But how do you know that, Betty?”
+
+The young woman coloured, and tossed her head as she answered:
+
+“I know it, Cousin, because, as I was going to visit my old aunt
+yesterday, who lives on the wharf at Westminster, I met him riding, and
+he called out to me, saying that he had a gift for you and one for me
+also.”
+
+“Be careful you do not meet him too often, Betty, when you chance to be
+visiting your aunt. These Spaniards are not always over-honest, as you
+may learn to your sorrow.”
+
+“I thank you for your good counsel,” said Betty, shortly, “but I, who
+am older than you, know enough of men to be able to guard myself, and
+can keep them at a distance.”
+
+“I am glad of it, Betty, only sometimes I have thought that the
+distance was scarcely wide enough,” answered Margaret, and left the
+subject, for she was thinking of other things.
+
+That afternoon, when Margaret was walking in the garden, Betty, whose
+face seemed somewhat flushed, ran up to her and said that the lord
+d’Aguilar was waiting in the hall.
+
+“Very good,” answered Margaret, “I will come. Go, tell my father, that
+he may join us. But why are you so disturbed and hurried?” she added
+wonderingly.
+
+“Oh!” answered Betty, “he has brought me a present, so fine a present—a
+mantle of the most wonderful lace that ever I saw, and a comb of
+mottled shell mounted in gold to keep it off the hair. He made me wait
+while he showed me how to put it on, and that was why I ran.”
+
+Margaret did not quite see the connection; but she answered slowly:
+
+“Perhaps it would have been wiser if you had run first. I do not
+understand why this fine lord brings you presents.”
+
+“But he has brought one for you also, Cousin, although he would not say
+what it was.”
+
+“That I understand still less. Go, tell my father that the Señor
+d’Aguilar awaits him.”
+
+Then she went into the hall, and found d’Aguilar looking at an
+illuminated Book of Hours in which she had been reading, that was
+written in Spanish in one column and in Latin in that opposite. He
+greeted her in his usual graceful way, that, where Margaret was
+concerned, was easy and well-bred without being bold, and said at once:
+
+“So you read Spanish, Señora?”
+
+“A little. Not very well, I fear.”
+
+“And Latin also?”
+
+“A little again. I have been taught that tongue. By studying them thus
+I try to improve myself in both.”
+
+“I perceive that you are learned as you are beautiful,” and he bowed
+courteously.
+
+“I thank you, Señor; but I lay claim to neither grace.”
+
+“What need is there to claim that which is evident?” replied d’Aguilar;
+then added, “But I forgot, I have brought you a present, if you will be
+pleased to accept it. Or, rather, I bring you what is your own, or at
+the least your father’s. I bargained with his Excellency Don de Ayala,
+pointing out that fifty gold angels were too much to pay for that dead
+rogue of his; but he would give me nothing back in money, since with
+gold he never parts. Yet I won some change from him, and it stands
+without your door. It is a Spanish jennet of the true Moorish blood,
+which, hundreds of years ago, that people brought with them from the
+East. He needs it no longer, as he returns to Spain, and it is trained
+to bear a lady.” Margaret did not know what to answer, but,
+fortunately, at that moment her father appeared, and to him d’Aguilar
+repeated his tale, adding that he had heard his daughter say that the
+horse she rode had fallen with her, so that she could use it no more.
+
+Now, Castell did not wish to accept this gift, for such he felt it to
+be; but d’Aguilar assured him that if he did not he must sell it and
+return him the price in money, as it did not belong to him. So, there
+being no help for it, he thanked him in his daughter’s name and his
+own, and they went into the stable-yard, whither it had been taken, to
+look at this horse.
+
+The moment that Castell saw it he knew that it was a creature of great
+value, pure white in colour, with a long, low body, small head, gentle
+eyes, round hoofs, and flowing mane and tail, such a horse, indeed, as
+a queen might have ridden. Now again he was confused, being sure that
+this beast had never been given back as a luck-penny, since it would
+have fetched more than the fifty angels on the market; moreover, it was
+harnessed with a woman’s saddle and bridle of the most beautifully
+worked red Cordova leather, to which were attached a silver bit and
+stirrup. But d’Aguilar smiled, and vowed that things were as he had
+told them, so there was nothing more to be said. Margaret, too, was so
+pleased with the mare, which she longed to ride, that she forgot her
+scruples, and tried to believe that this was so. Noting her delight,
+which she could not conceal as she patted the beautiful beast,
+d’Aguilar said:
+
+“Now I will ask one thing in return for the bargain that I have
+made—that I may see you mount this horse for the first time. You told
+me that you and your father were wont to go out together in the
+morning. Have I your leave, Sir,” and he turned to Castell, “to ride
+with you before breakfast, say, at seven of the clock, for I would show
+the lady, your daughter, how she should manage a horse of this blood,
+which is something of a trick?”
+
+“If you will,” answered Castell—“that is, if the weather is fine,” for
+the offer was made so courteously that it could scarcely be refused.
+
+d’Aguilar bowed, and they re-entered the house, talking of other
+matters. When they were in the hall again, he asked whether their
+kinsman Peter had reached his destination safely, adding:
+
+“I pray you, do not tell me where it is, for I wish to be able to put
+my hand upon my heart and swear to all concerned, and especially to
+certain fellows who are still seeking for him, that I know nothing of
+his hiding-place.”
+
+Castell answered that he had, since but a few minutes before a letter
+had come from him announcing his safe arrival, tidings at which
+Margaret looked up, then, remembering her promise, said that she was
+glad to hear of it, as the roads were none too safe, and spoke
+indifferently of something else. d’Aguilar added that he also was glad,
+then, rising, took his leave “till seven on the morrow.”
+
+When he had gone, Castell gave Margaret a letter, addressed to her in
+Peter’s stiff, upright hand, which she read eagerly. It began and ended
+with sweet words, but, like his speech, was brief and to the point,
+saying only that he had accomplished his journey without adventure, and
+was very glad to find himself again in the old house where he was born,
+and amongst familiar fields and faces. On the morrow he was to see the
+tradesmen as to alterations and repairs which were much needed, even
+the moat being choked with mud and weeds. His last sentence was: “I
+much mistrust me of that fine Spaniard, and I am jealous to think that
+he should be near to you while I am far away. Beware of him, I
+say—beware of him. May the Mother of God and all the saints have you in
+their keeping! Your most true affianced lover.”
+
+This letter Margaret answered before she slept, for the messenger was
+to return at dawn, telling Peter, amongst other things, of the gift
+which d’Aguilar had brought her, and how she and her father were forced
+to accept it, but bidding him not be jealous, since, although the gift
+was welcome, she liked the giver little, who did but count the hours
+till her true lover should come back again and take her to himself.
+
+Next morning she was up early, clothed in her riding-dress, for the day
+was very fine, and by seven o’clock d’Aguilar appeared, mounted on a
+great horse. Then the Spanish jennet was brought out, and deftly he
+lifted her to the saddle, showing her how she must pull but lightly on
+the reins, and urge or check her steed with her voice alone, using no
+whip or spur.
+
+A perfect beast it proved to be, indeed, gentle as a lamb, and easy,
+yet very spirited and swift.
+
+d’Aguilar was a pleasant cavalier also, talking of many things grave
+and gay, until at length even Castell forgot his thoughts, and grew
+cheerful as they cantered forward through the fresh spring morning by
+heath and hill and woodland, listening to the singing of the birds, and
+watching the husbandmen at their labour. This ride was but the first of
+several that they took, since d’Aguilar knew their hours of exercise,
+even when they changed them, and whether they asked him or not, joined
+or met them in such a natural fashion that they could not refuse his
+company. Indeed, they were much puzzled to know how he came to be so
+well acquainted with their movements, and even with the direction in
+which they proposed to ride, but supposed that he must have it from the
+grooms, although these were commanded to say nothing, and always denied
+having spoken with him. That Betty should speak of such matters, or
+even find opportunity of doing so, never chanced to cross their minds,
+who did not guess that if they rode with d’Aguilar in the morning,
+Betty often walked with him in the evening when she was supposed to be
+at church, or sewing, or visiting her aunt upon the wharf at
+Westminster. But of these walks the foolish girl said nothing, for her
+own reasons.
+
+Now, as they rode together, although he remained very courteous and
+respectful, the manner of d’Aguilar towards Margaret grew ever more
+close and intimate. Thus he began to tell her stories, true or false,
+of his past life, which seemed to have been strange and eventful
+enough; to hint, too, of a certain hidden greatness that pertained to
+him which he did not dare to show, and of high ambitions which he had.
+He spoke also of his loneliness, and his desire to lose it in the
+companionship of a kindred heart, if he could find one to share his
+wealth, his station, and his hopes; while all the time his dark eyes,
+fixed on Margaret, seemed to say, “The heart I seek is such a one as
+yours.” At length, at some murmured word or touch, she took affright,
+and, since she could not avoid him abroad, determined to stay at home,
+and, much as she loved the sport, to ride no more till Peter should
+return. So she gave out that she had hurt her knee, which made the
+saddle painful to her, and the beautiful Spanish mare was left idle in
+the stable, or mounted only by the groom.
+
+Thus for some days she was rid of d’Aguilar, and employed herself in
+reading and working, or in writing long letters to Peter, who was busy
+enough at Dedham, and sent her thence many commissions to fulfil.
+
+One afternoon Castell was seated in his office deciphering letters
+which had just reached him. The night before his best ship, of over two
+hundred tons burden, which was named the Margaret, after his daughter,
+had come safely into the mouth of the Thames from Spain. That evening
+she was to reach her berth at Gravesend with the tide, when Castell
+proposed to go aboard of her to see to the unloading of her cargo. This
+was the last of his ships which remained unsold, and it was his plan to
+re-load and victual her at once with goods that were waiting, and send
+her back to the port of Seville, where his Spanish partners, in whose
+name she was already registered, had agreed to take her over at a fixed
+price. This done, it was only left for him to hand over his business to
+the merchants who had purchased it in London, after which he would be
+free to depart, a very wealthy man, and spend the evening of his days
+at peace in Essex, with his daughter and her husband, as now he so
+greatly longed to do. So soon as they were within the river banks the
+captain of this ship, Smith by name, had landed the cargo-master with
+letters and a manifest of cargo, bidding him hire a horse and bring
+them to Master Castell’s house in Holborn. This the man had done
+safely, and it was these letters that Castell read.
+
+One of them was from his partner Bernaldez in Seville; not in answer to
+that which he had written on the night of the opening of this
+history—for this there had been no time—yet dealing with matters
+whereof it treated. In it was this passage:
+
+“You will remember what I wrote to you of a certain envoy who has been
+sent to the Court of London, who is called d’Aguilar, for as our cipher
+is so secret, and it is important that you should be warned, I take the
+risk of writing his name. Since that letter I have learned more
+concerning this grandee, for such he is. Although he calls himself
+plain Don d’Aguilar, in truth he is the Marquis of Morella, and on one
+side, it is said, of royal blood, if not on both, since he is reported
+to be the son born out of wedlock of Prince Carlos of Viana, the
+half-brother of the king. The tale runs that Carlos, the learned and
+gentle, fell in love with a Moorish lady of Aguilar of high birth and
+great wealth, for she had rich estates at Granada and elsewhere, and,
+as he might not marry her because of the difference of their rank and
+faiths, lived with her without marriage, of which union one son was
+born. Before Prince Carlos died, or was poisoned, and while he was
+still a prisoner at Morella, he gave to, or procured for this boy the
+title of marquis, choosing from some fancy the name of Morella, that
+place where he had suffered so much. Also he settled some private lands
+upon him. After the prince died, the Moorish lady, his lover, who had
+secretly become a Christian, took her son to live at her palace in
+Granada, where she died also some ten years ago, leaving all her great
+wealth to him, for she never married. At this time it is said that his
+life was in danger, for the reason that, although he was half a Moor,
+too much of the blood-royal ran in his veins. But the Marquis was
+clever, and persuaded the king and queen that he had no ambition beyond
+his pleasures. Also the Church interceded for him, since to it he
+proved himself a faithful son, persecuting all heretics, especially the
+Jews, and even Moors, although they are of his own blood. So in the end
+he was confirmed in his possessions and left alone, although he refused
+to become a priest.
+
+“Since then he has been made an agent of the Crown at Granada, and
+employed upon various embassies to London, Rome, and elsewhere, on
+matters connected with the faith and the establishment of the Holy
+Inquisition. That is why he is again in England at this moment, being
+charged to obtain the names and particulars concerning all Maranos
+settled there, especially if they trade with Spain. I have seen the
+names of those of whom he must inquire most closely, and that is why I
+write to you so fully, since yours is first upon the list. I think,
+therefore, that you do wisely to wind up your business with this
+country, and especially to sell your ships to us outright and quickly,
+since otherwise they might be seized—like yourself, if you came here.
+My counsel to you is—hide your wealth, which will be great when we have
+paid you all we owe, and go to some place where you will be forgotten
+for a while, since that bloodhound d’Aguilar, for so he calls himself,
+after his mother’s birthplace, has not tracked you to London for
+nothing. As yet, thanks be to God, no suspicion has fallen on any of
+us; perhaps because we have many in our pay.”
+
+When Castell had finished transcribing all this passage he read it
+through carefully. Then he went into the hall, where a fire burned, for
+the day was cold, and threw the translation on to it, watching until it
+was consumed, after which he returned to his office, and hid away the
+letter in a secret cupboard behind the panelling of the wall. This
+done, he sat himself in his chair to think.
+
+“My good friend Juan Bernaldez is right,” he said to himself;
+“d’Aguilar, or the Marquis Morella, does not nose me and the others out
+for nothing. Well, I shall not trust myself in Spain, and the money,
+most of it, except what is still to come from Spain, is put out where
+it will never be found by him, at good interest too. All seems safe
+enough—and yet I would to God that Peter and Margaret were fast
+married, and that we three sat together, out of sight and mind, in the
+Old Hall at Dedham. I have carried on this game too long. I should have
+closed my books a year ago; but the trade was so good that I could not.
+I was wise also, who in this one lucky year have nearly doubled my
+fortune. And yet it would have been safer, before they guessed that I
+was so rich. Greed—mere greed—for I do not need this money which may
+destroy us all! Greed! The ancient pitfall of my race.”
+
+As he thought thus there came a knock upon his door. Snatching up a pen
+he dipped it in the ink-horn and, calling “Enter,” began to add a
+column of figures on a paper before him.
+
+The door opened; but he seemed to take no heed, so diligently did he
+count his figures. Yet, although his eyes were fixed upon the paper, in
+some way that he could not understand he was well aware that d’Aguilar
+and no other stood in the room behind him, the truth being, no doubt,
+that unconsciously he had recognised his footstep. For a moment the
+knowledge turned him cold—he who had just been reading of the mission
+of this man—and feared what was to come. Yet he acted well.
+
+“Why do you disturb me, Daughter?” he said testily, and without looking
+round. “Have not things gone ill enough with half the cargo destroyed
+by sea-water, and the rest, that you must trouble me while I sum up my
+losses?” And, casting the pen down, he turned his stool round
+impatiently.
+
+Yes! there sure enough stood d’Aguilar, very handsomely arrayed, and
+smiling and bowing as was his custom.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+D’AGUILAR SPEAKS.
+
+
+“Losses?” said d’Aguilar. “Do I hear the wealthy John Castell, who
+holds half the trade with Spain in the hollow of his hand, talk of
+losses?”
+
+“Yes, Señor, you do. Things have gone ill with this ship of mine that
+has barely lived through the spring gales. But be seated.”
+
+“Indeed, is that so?” said d’Aguilar as he sat down. “What a lying jade
+is rumour! For I was told that they had gone very well. Doubtless,
+however, what is loss to you would be priceless gain to one like me.”
+
+Castell made no answer, but waited, feeling that his visitor had not
+come to speak with him of his trading ventures.
+
+“Señor Castell,” said d’Aguilar, with a note of nervousness in his
+voice, “I am here to ask you for something.”
+
+“If it be a loan, Señor, I fear that the time is not opportune.” And he
+nodded towards the sheet of figures.
+
+“It is not a loan; it is a gift.”
+
+“Anything in my poor house is yours,” answered Castell courteously, and
+in Oriental form.
+
+“I rejoice to hear it, Señor, for I seek something from your house.”
+
+Castell looked a question at him with his quick black eyes.
+
+“I seek your daughter, the Señora Margaret, in marriage.”
+
+Castell stared at him, then a single word broke from his lips.
+
+“Impossible.”
+
+“Why impossible?” asked d’Aguilar slowly, yet as one who expected some
+such answer. “In age we are not unsuited, nor perhaps in fortune, while
+of rank I have enough, more than you guess perhaps. I vaunt not myself,
+yet women have thought me not uncomely. I should be a good friend to
+the house whence I took a wife, where perchance a day may come when
+friends will be needed; and lastly, I desire her not for what she may
+bring with her, though wealth is always welcome, but—I pray you to
+believe it—because I love her.”
+
+“I have heard that the Señor d’Aguilar loves many women, yonder in
+Granada.”
+
+“As I have heard that the Margaret had a prosperous voyage, Señor
+Castell. Rumour, as I said but now, is a lying jade. Yet I will not
+copy her. I have been no saint. Now I would become one, for Margaret’s
+sake. I will be true to your daughter, Señor. What say you now?”
+
+Castell only shook his head.
+
+“Listen,” went on d’Aguilar. “I am more than I seem to be; she who weds
+me will not lack for rank and titles.”
+
+“Yes, you are the Marquis de Morella, the reputed son of Prince Carlos
+of Viana by a Moorish mother, and therefore nephew to his Majesty of
+Spain.”
+
+d’Aguilar looked at him, then bowed and said:
+
+“Your information is good—as good as mine, almost. Doubtless you do not
+like that bar in the blood. Well, if it were not there, I should be
+where Ferdinand is, should I not? So I do not like it either, though it
+is good blood and ancient—that of those high-bred Moors. Now, may not
+the nephew of a king and the son of a princess of Granada be fit to
+mate with the daughter of—a Jew, yes, a Marano, and of a Christian
+English lady, of good family, but no more?”
+
+Castell lifted his hand as though to speak; but d’Aguilar went on:
+
+“Deny it not, friend; it is not worth while here in private. Was there
+not a certain Isaac of Toledo who, hard on fifty years ago, left Spain,
+for his own reasons, with a little son, and in London became known as
+Joseph Castell, having, with his son, been baptized into the Holy
+Church? Ah! you see you are not the only one who studies genealogies.”
+
+“Well, Señor, if so, what of it?”
+
+“What of it? Nothing at all, friend Castell. It is an old story, is it
+not, and, as that Isaac is long dead and his son has been a good
+Christian for nearly fifty years and had a Christian wife and child,
+who will trouble himself about such a matter? If he were openly a
+Hebrew now, or worse still, if pretending to be a Christian, he in
+secret practised the rites of the accursed Jews, why then——”
+
+“Then what?”
+
+“Then, of course, he would be expelled this land, where no Jew may
+live, his wealth would be forfeit to its king, whose ward his daughter
+would become, to be given in marriage where he willed, while he
+himself, being Spanish born, might perhaps be handed over to the power
+of Spain, there to make answer to these charges. But we wander to
+strange matters. Is that alliance still impossible, Señor?”
+
+Castell looked him straight in the eyes and answered:
+
+“Yes.”
+
+There was something so bold and direct in his utterance of the word
+that for a moment d’Aguilar seemed to be taken aback. He had not
+expected this sharp denial.
+
+“It would be courteous to give a reason,” he said presently.
+
+“The reason is simple, Marquis. My daughter is already betrothed, and
+will ere long be wedded.”
+
+d’Aguilar did not seem surprised at this intelligence.
+
+“To that brawler, your kinsman, Peter Brome, I suppose?” he said
+interrogatively. “I guessed as much, and by the saints I am sorry for
+her, for he must be a dull lover to one so fair and bright; while as a
+husband—” And he shrugged his shoulders. “Friend Castell, for her sake
+you will break off this match.”
+
+“And if I will not, Marquis?”
+
+“Then I must break it off for you in the interest of all of us,
+including, of course, myself, who love her, and wish to lift her to a
+great place, and of yourself, whom I desire should pass your old age in
+peace and wealth, and not be hunted to your death like a mad dog.”
+
+“How will you break it, Marquis? by—”
+
+“Oh no, Señor!” answered d’Aguilar, “not by other men’s swords—if that
+is what you mean. The worthy Peter is safe from them so far as I am
+concerned, though if he should come face to face with mine, then let
+the best man win. Have no fear, friend, I do not practise murder, who
+value my own soul too much to soak it in blood, nor would I marry a
+woman except of her own free will. Still, Peter may die, and the fair
+Margaret may still place her hand in mine and say, ‘I choose you as my
+husband.’”
+
+“All these things, and many others, may happen, Marquis; but I do not
+think it likely that they will happen, and for my part, whilst thanking
+you for it, I decline your honourable offer, believing that my daughter
+will be more happy in her present humble state with the man she has
+chosen. Have I your leave to return to my accounts?” And he rose.
+
+“Yes, Señor,” answered d’Aguilar, rising also; “but add an item to
+those losses of which you spoke, that of the friendship of Carlos,
+Marquis de Morella, and on the other side enter again that of his hate.
+Man!” he added, and his dark, handsome face turned very evil as he
+spoke, “are you mad? Think of the little tabernacle behind the altar in
+your chapel, and what it contains.”
+
+Castell stared at him, then said:
+
+“Come, let us see. Nay, fear no trick; like you I remember my soul, and
+do not stain my hands with blood. Follow me, so you will be safe.”
+
+Curiosity, or some other reason, prompted d’Aguilar to obey, and
+presently they stood behind the altar.
+
+“Now,” said Castell, as he drew the tapestry and opened the secret
+door, “look!” d’Aguilar peered into the place; but where should have
+been the table, the ark, the candlesticks, and the roll of the law of
+which Betty had told him, were only old dusty boxes filled with
+parchments and some broken furniture.
+
+“What do you see?” asked Castell.
+
+“I see, friend, that you are even a cleverer Jew than I thought. But
+this is a matter that you must explain to others in due season. Believe
+me, I am no inquisitor.” Then without more words he turned and left
+him.
+
+When Castell, having shut the secret door and drawn the tapestry,
+hurried from the chapel, it was to find that the marquis had departed.
+
+He went back to his office much disturbed, and sat himself down there
+to think. Truly Fate, that had so long been his friend, was turning its
+face against him. Things could not have gone worse. d’Aguilar had
+discovered the secret of his faith through his spies, and, having by
+some accursed mischance fallen in love with his daughter’s beauty, was
+become his bitter enemy because he must refuse her to him. Why must he
+refuse her? The man was of great position and noble blood; she would
+become the wife of one of the first grandees of Spain, one who stood
+nearest to the throne. Perhaps—such a thing was possible—she might live
+herself to be queen, or the mother of kings. Moreover, that marriage
+meant safety for himself; it meant a quiet age, a peaceable death in
+his own bed—for, were he fifty times a Marano, who would touch the
+father-in-law of the Marquis de Morella? Why? Just because he had
+promised her in marriage to Peter Brome, and through all his life as a
+merchant he had never yet broken with a bargain because it went against
+himself. That was the answer. Yet almost he could find it in his heart
+to wish that he had never made that bargain; that he had kept Peter,
+who had waited so long, waiting for another month. Well, it was too
+late now. He had passed his word, and he would keep it, whatever the
+cost might be.
+
+Rising, he called one of the servants, and bade her summon Margaret.
+Presently she returned, saying that her mistress had gone out walking
+with Betty, adding also that his horse was at the door for him to ride
+to the river, where he was to pass the night on board his ship.
+
+Taking paper, he bethought him that he would write to Margaret, warning
+her against the Spaniard. Then, remembering that she had nothing to
+fear from him, at any rate at present, and that it was not wise to set
+down such matters, he told her only to take good care of herself, and
+that he would be back in the morning.
+
+That evening, when Margaret was in her own little sitting-chamber which
+adjoined the great hall, the door opened, and she looked up from the
+work upon which she was engaged, to see d’Aguilar standing before her.
+
+“Señor!” she said, amazed, “how came you here?”
+
+“Señora,” he answered, closing the door and bowing, “my feet brought
+me. Had I any other means of coming I think that I should not often be
+absent from your side.”
+
+“Spare me your fine words, I pray you, Señor,” answered Margaret,
+frowning. “It is not fitting that I should receive you thus alone at
+night, my father being absent from the house.” And she made as though
+she would pass him and reach the door.
+
+d’Aguilar, who stood in front of it, did not move, so perforce she
+stopped half way.
+
+“I found that he was absent,” he said courteously, “and that is why I
+venture to address you upon a matter of some importance. Give me a few
+minutes of your time, therefore, I beseech you.”
+
+Now, at once the thought entered Margaret’s mind that he had some news
+of Peter to communicate to her—bad news perhaps.
+
+“Be seated, and speak on, Señor,” she said, sinking into a chair, while
+he too sat down, but still in front of the door.
+
+“Señora,” he said, “my business in this country is finished, and in a
+few days I sail hence for Spain.” And he hesitated a moment.
+
+“I trust that your voyage will be pleasant,” said Margaret, not knowing
+what else to answer.
+
+“I trust so also, Señora, since I have come to ask you if you will
+share it. Listen, before you refuse. To-day I saw your father, and
+begged your hand of him. He would give me no answer, neither yea nor
+nay, saying that you were your own mistress, and that I must seek it
+from your lips.”
+
+“My father said that?” gasped Margaret, astonished, then bethought her
+that he might have had reasons for speaking so, and went on rapidly,
+“Well, it is short and simple. I thank you, Señor; but I stay in
+England.”
+
+“Even that I would be willing to do for your sake Señora, though, in
+truth, I find it a cold and barbarous country.”
+
+“If so, Señor d’Aguilar, I think that I should go to Spain. I pray you
+let me pass.”
+
+“Not till you have heard me out, Señora, when I trust that your words
+will be more gentle. See now I am a great man in my own country.
+Although it suits me to pass here incognito as plain Señor d’Aguilar I
+am the Marquis of Morella, the nephew of Ferdinand the King, with some
+wealth and station, official and private. If you disbelieve me, I can
+prove it to you.”
+
+“I do not disbelieve,” answered Margaret indifferently, “it may well be
+so; but what is that to me?”
+
+“Then is it not something, Lady, that I, who have blood-royal in my
+veins, should seek the daughter of a merchant to be my wife?”
+
+“Nothing at all—to me, who am satisfied with my humble lot.”
+
+“Is it nothing to you that I should love as I do, with all my heart and
+soul? Marry me, and I tell you that I will lift you high, yes, perhaps
+even to the throne.”
+
+She thought a moment, then asked:
+
+“The bribe is great, but how would you do that? Many a maid has been
+deceived with false jewels, Señor.”
+
+“How has it been done before? Not every one loves Ferdinand. I have
+many friends who remember that my father was poisoned by his father and
+Ferdinand’s, he being the elder son. Also, my mother was a princess of
+the Moors, and if I, who dwell among them as the envoy of their
+Majesties, threw in my sword with theirs—or there are other ways. But I
+am speaking things that have never passed my lips before, which, were
+they known, would cost me my head—let it serve to show how much I trust
+you.”
+
+“I thank you, Señor, for your trust; but this crown seems to me set
+upon a peak that it is dangerous to climb, and I had sooner sit in
+safety on the plain.”
+
+“You reject the pomp,” went on d’Aguilar in his passionate, pleading
+voice, “then will not the love move you? Oh! you shall be worshipped as
+never woman was. I swear to you that in your eyes there is a light
+which has set my heart on fire, so that it burns night and day, and
+will not be quenched. Your voice is my sweetest music, your hair is a
+cord that binds me to you faster than the prisoner’s chain, and, when
+you pass, for me Venus walks the earth. More, your mind is pure and
+noble as your beauty, and by the aid of it I shall be lifted up through
+the high places of the earth to some white throne in heaven. I love
+you, my lady, my fair Margaret; because of you, all other women are
+become coarse and hateful in my sight. See how much I love you, that I,
+one of the first grandees of Spain, do this for your sweet sake,” and
+suddenly he cast himself upon his knees before her, and lifting the hem
+of her dress pressed it to his lips.
+
+Margaret looked down at him, and the anger that was rising in her
+breast melted, while with it went her fear. This man was much in
+earnest; she could not doubt it. The hand that held her robe trembled
+like shaken water, his face was ashen, and in his dark eyes swam tears.
+What cause had she to be afraid of one who was so much her slave?
+
+“Señor,” she said very gently, “rise, I pray you. Do not waste all this
+love upon one who chances to have caught your fancy, but who is quite
+unworthy of it, and far beneath you; one, moreover, by whom it may not
+be returned. Señor, I am already affianced. Therefore, put me out of
+your mind and find some other love.”
+
+He rose and stood in front of her.
+
+“Affianced,” he said, “I knew it. Nay, I will say no ill of the man; to
+revile one more fortunate is poor argument. But what is it to me if you
+are affianced? What to me if you were wed? I should seek you all the
+same, who have no choice. Beneath me? You are as far above me as a
+star, and it would seem as hard to reach. Seek some other love? I tell
+you, lady, that I have sought many, for not all are so hard to win, and
+I hate them every one. You I desire alone, and shall desire till I be
+dead, aye, and you I will win or die. No, I will not die till you are
+my own. Have no fear, I will not kill your lover, save perhaps in fair
+fight; I will not force you to give yourself to me, should I find the
+chance, but with your own lips I will yet listen to you asking me to be
+your husband. I swear it by Him Who died for us. I swear that, laying
+aside all other ends, to that sole purpose I will devote my days. Yes,
+and should you chance to pass from earth before me, then I will follow
+you to the very gates of death and clasp you there.”
+
+Now again Margaret’s fear returned to her. This man’s passion was
+terrible, yet there was a grandeur in it; Peter had never spoken to her
+in so high a fashion.
+
+“Señor,” she said almost pleadingly, “corpses are poor brides; have
+done with such sick fancies, which surely must be born of your Eastern
+blood.”
+
+“It is your blood also, who are half a Jew, and, therefore, at least
+you should understand them.”
+
+“Mayhap I do understand, mayhap I think them great in their own
+fashion, yes, noble even, and admire, if it can be noble to seek to win
+away another man’s betrothed. But, Señor, I am that man’s betrothed,
+and all of me, my body and my soul, is his, nor would I go back upon my
+word, and so break his heart, to win the empire of the earth. Señor,
+once more I implore you to leave this poor maid to the humble life that
+she has chosen, and to forget her.”
+
+“Lady,” answered d’Aguilar, “your words are wise and gentle, and I
+thank you for them. But I cannot forget you, and that oath I swore just
+now I swear again, thus.” And before she could prevent him, or even
+guess what he was about to do, he lifted the gold crucifix that hung by
+a chain about her neck, kissed it, and let it fall gently back upon her
+breast, saying, “See, I might have kissed your lips before you could
+have stayed me, but that I will never do until you give me leave, so in
+place of them I kiss the cross, which till then we both must carry.
+Lady, my lady Margaret, within a day or two I sail for Spain, but your
+image shall sail with me, and I believe that ere long our paths must
+cross again. How can it be otherwise since the threads of your life and
+mine were intertwined on that night outside the Palace of Westminster
+—intertwined never to be separated till one of us has ceased to be, and
+then only for a little while. Lady, for the present, farewell.”
+
+Then swiftly and silently as he had come, d’Aguilar went.
+
+It was Betty who let him out at the side door, as she had let him in.
+More, glancing round to see that she was not observed—for it chanced
+now that Peter was away with some of the best men, and the master was
+out with others, no one was on watch this night—leaving the door ajar
+that she might re-enter, she followed him a little way, till they came
+to an old arch, which in some bygone time had led to a house now pulled
+down. Into this dark place Betty slipped, touching d’Aguilar on the arm
+as she did so. For a moment he hesitated, then, muttering some Spanish
+oath between his teeth, followed her.
+
+“Well, most fair Betty,” he said, “what word have you for me now?”
+
+“The question is, Señor Carlos,” answered Betty with scarcely
+suppressed indignation, “what word you have for me, who dared so much
+for you to-night? That you have plenty for my cousin, I know, since
+standing in the cold garden I could hear you talk, talk, talk, through
+the shutters, as though for your very life.”
+
+“I pray that those shutters had no hole in them,” reflected d’Aguilar
+to himself. “No, there was a curtain also; she can have seen nothing.”
+But aloud he answered: “Mistress Betty, you should not stand about in
+this bitter wind; you might fall ill, and then what should I suffer?”
+
+“I don’t know, nothing perhaps; that would be left to me. What I want
+to understand is, why you plan to come to see me, and then spend an
+hour with Margaret?”
+
+“To avert suspicion, most dear Betty. Also I had to talk to her of this
+Peter, in whom she seems so greatly interested. You are very shrewd,
+Betty—tell me, is that to be a match?”
+
+“I think so; I have been told nothing, but I have noticed many things,
+and almost every day she is writing to him, though why she should care
+for that owl of a man I cannot guess.”
+
+“Doubtless because she appreciates solid worth, Betty, as I do in you.
+Who can account for the impulses of the heart, which come, say some of
+the learned, from heaven, and others, from hell? At least it is no
+affair of ours, so let us wish them happiness, and, after they are
+married, a large and healthy family. Meanwhile, dear Betty, are you
+making ready for your voyage to Spain?”
+
+“I don’t know,” answered Betty gloomily. “I am not sure that I trust
+you and your fine words. If you want to marry me, as you swear, and be
+sure I look for nothing less, why cannot it be before we start, and how
+am I to know that you will do so when we get there?”
+
+“You ask many questions, Betty, all of which I have answered before. I
+have told you that I cannot marry you here because of that permission
+which is necessary on account of the difference in our ranks. Here,
+where your place is known, it is not to be had; there, where you will
+pass as a great English lady—as of course you are by birth—I can obtain
+it in an hour. But if you have any doubts, although it cuts me to the
+heart to say it, it would be best that we should part at once. I will
+take no wife who does not trust me fully and alone. Say then, cruel
+Betty, do you wish to leave me?”
+
+“You know I don’t; you know it would kill me,” she answered in a voice
+that was thick with passion, “you know I worship the ground you tread
+on, and hate every woman you go near, yes, even my cousin who has been
+so good to me, and whom I love. I will take the risk and come with you,
+believing you to be an honest gentleman, who would not deceive a girl
+who trusts him; and if you do, may God deal with you as I shall, for I
+am no toy to be broken and thrown away, as you would find out. Yes, I
+will take the risk because you have made me love you so that I cannot
+live without you.”
+
+“Betty, your words fill me with rapture, showing me that I have not
+misread your noble mind; but speak a little lower—there are echoes in
+this hole. Now for the plans, for time is short, and you may be missed.
+When I am about to sail I will invite Mistress Margaret and yourself to
+come aboard my ship.”
+
+“Why not invite me without my cousin Margaret?” asked Betty.
+
+“Because it would excite suspicion which we must avoid—do not interrupt
+me. I will invite you both or get you there upon some other pretext,
+and then I will arrange that she shall be brought ashore again and you
+taken on. Leave it all to me, only swear that you will obey any
+instructions I may send you for if you do not, I tell you that we have
+enemies in high places who may part us for ever. Betty, I will be
+frank, there is a great lady who is jealous, and watches you very
+closely. Do you swear?”
+
+“Yes, yes, I swear. But about the great lady?”
+
+“Not a word about her—on your life—and mine. You shall hear from me
+shortly. And now, sweetheart—good-night.”
+
+“Good-night,” said Betty, but still she did not stir.
+
+Then, understanding that she expected something more, d’Aguilar nerved
+himself to the task, and touched her hair with his lips.
+
+Next moment he regretted it, for even that tempered salute fanned her
+passion into flame.
+
+Throwing her arms about his neck Betty drew his face to hers and kissed
+him many times, till at length he broke, half choking, from her
+embrace, and escaped into the street.
+
+“Mother of Heaven!” he muttered to himself, “the woman is a volcano in
+eruption. I shall feel her kisses for a week,” and he rubbed his face
+ruefully with his hand. “I wish I had made some other plan; but it is
+too late to change it now—she would betray everything. Well, I will be
+rid of her somehow, if I have to drown her. A hard fate to love the
+mistress and be loved of the maid!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+THE SNARE.
+
+
+On the following morning, when Castell returned, Margaret told him of
+the visit of d’Aguilar, and of all that had passed between them, told
+him also that he was acquainted with their secret, since he had spoken
+of her as half a Jew.
+
+“I know it, I know it,” answered her father, who was much disturbed and
+very angry, “for yesterday he threatened me also. But let that go, I
+can take my chance; now I would learn who brought this man into my
+house when I was absent, and without my leave.”
+
+“I fear that it was Betty,” said Margaret, “who swears that she thought
+she did no wrong.”
+
+“Send for her,” said Castell. Presently Betty came, and, being
+questioned, told a long story.
+
+She said she was standing by the side door, taking the air, when Señor
+d’Aguilar appeared, and, having greeted her, without more words walked
+into the house, saying that he had an appointment with the master.
+
+“With me?” broke in Castell. “I was absent.”
+
+“I did not know that you were absent, for I was out when you rode away
+in the afternoon, and no one had spoken of it to me, so, thinking that
+he was your friend, I let him in, and let him out again afterwards.
+That is all I have to say.”
+
+“Then I have to say that you are a hussy and a liar, and that, in one
+way or the other, this Spaniard has bribed you,” answered Castell
+fiercely. “Now, girl, although you are my wife’s cousin, and therefore
+my daughter’s kin, I am minded to turn you out on to the street to
+starve.”
+
+At this Betty first grew angry, then began to weep; while Margaret
+pleaded with her father, saying that it would mean the girl’s ruin, and
+that he must not take such a sin upon him. So the end of it was, that,
+being a kind-hearted man, remembering also that Betty Dene was of his
+wife’s blood, and that she had favoured her as her daughter did, he
+relented, taking measures to see that she went abroad no more save in
+the company of Margaret, and that the doors were opened only by
+men-servants.
+
+So this matter ended.
+
+That day Margaret wrote to Peter, telling him of all that had happened,
+and how the Spaniard had asked her in marriage, though the words that
+he used she did not tell. At the end of her letter, also, she bade him
+have no fear of the Señor d’Aguilar or of any other man, as he knew
+where her heart was.
+
+When Peter received this writing he was much vexed to learn that both
+Master Castell and Margaret had incurred the enmity of d’Aguilar, for
+so he guessed it must be, also that Margaret should have been troubled
+with his love-making; but for the rest he thought little of the matter,
+who trusted her as he trusted heaven. Still it made him anxious to
+return to London as soon as might he, even though he must take the risk
+of the Spaniards’ daggers. Within three days, however, he received
+other letters both from Castell and from Margaret, which set his fears
+at rest.
+
+These told him that d’Aguilar had sailed for Spain indeed, Castell said
+that he had seen him standing on the poop of the Ambassador de Ayala’s
+vessel as it dropped down the Thames towards the sea. Moreover,
+Margaret had a note of farewell from his hand, which ran:
+
+ “Adieu, sweet lady, till that predestined hour when we meet again. I
+go, as I must, but, as I told you, your image goes with me.
+
+“Your worshipper till death,     
+
+“MORELLA.”
+
+“He may take her image so long as I keep herself and if he comes back
+with his worship, I promise him that death and he shall not be far
+apart,” was Peter’s grim comment as he laid the paper down. Then he
+went on with his letters, which told that now, when the Spaniards had
+gone, and there was nothing more to fear, he was awaited in London.
+Indeed, Castell fixed a day when he should arrive—May 31st—that was
+within a week, adding that on its morrow—namely, June 1st, for Margaret
+would not be wed in May, the Virgin Mary’s month, since she held it to
+be unlucky—their marriage might take place as quietly as they would.
+
+Margaret wrote the same news, and in such sweet words that he kissed
+her letter, then hastened to answer it, shortly, after his custom, for
+Peter was no great scribe, saying, that if the saints willed it he
+would be with them by nightfall on the last day of May, and that in all
+England there was no happier man than he.
+
+Now all that week Margaret was very busy preparing her marriage robe,
+and other garments also, for it was settled that on the next day they
+should ride together down to Dedham, in Essex, whither her father would
+follow them shortly. The Old Hall was not ready, indeed, nor would it
+be for some time; but Peter had furnished certain rooms in it which
+might serve them for the summer season, and by winter time the house
+would be finished and open.
+
+Castell was busy also, for now, having worked very hard at the task,
+his ship the Margaret was almost refitted and laden, so that he hoped
+to get her to sea on this same May 31st, and thus be clear of the last
+of his business, except the handing over of his warehouses and stock to
+those who had bought them. These great affairs kept him much at
+Gravesend, where the ship lay, but, as he had no dread of further
+trouble now that d’Aguilar and the other Spaniards, among them that
+band of de Ayala’s servants who had vowed to take Peter’s life, were
+gone, this did not disturb him.
+
+Oh! happy, happy was Margaret during those sweet spring days, when her
+heart was bright and clear as the skies from which all winter storms
+had passed. So happy was she indeed, and so full of a hundred joyful
+cares, that she found no time to take note of her cousin Betty, who
+worked with her at her wedding broideries, and helped to make
+preparations for the journey which should follow after. Had she done
+so, she might have seen that Betty was anxious and distressed, like one
+who waited for some tidings that did not come, and from hour to hour
+fought against anguish and despair But she took no note, whose heart
+was too full of her own matters, and who did but count the hours till
+she should see her lover back and pass to his arms, a wife.
+
+Thus the time went on until the appointed day of Peter’s return, the
+morrow of her marriage, for which all things were now prepared, down to
+Peter’s wedding garments, that were finer than any she had yet seen him
+wear, and the decking of the neighbouring church with flowers. In the
+early morning her father rode away to Gravesend with the most of his
+men-servants for the ship Margaret was to sail at the following dawn
+and there was yet much to be done before she could lift anchor. Still,
+he had promised to be back by nightfall in time to meet Peter who,
+leaving Dedham that morning, could not reach them before then.
+
+At length it was past four of the afternoon, and everything being
+finished, Margaret went to her room to dress herself anew, that she
+might look fine in Peter’s eyes when he should come. Betty she did not
+take with her, for there were things to which her cousin must attend;
+moreover, her heart was so full that she wished to be alone a while.
+
+Betty’s heart was full also, but not with joy. She had been deceived.
+The fine Spanish Don, who had made her love him so desperately, had
+sailed away and left her without a word. She could not doubt it, he had
+been seen standing on the ship—and not one word. It was cruel, cruel,
+and now she must help another woman to be made a happy wife, she who
+was beggared of hope and love. Moodily, full of bitterness, she went
+about her tasks, biting her lips and wiping her fine eyes with the
+sleeve of her robe, when suddenly the door opened, and a servant, not
+one of their own, but a strange man who had been brought in to help at
+the morrow’s feast, called out that a sailor wished to speak with her.
+
+“Then let him enter here; I have no time to go out to listen to his
+talk,” snapped Betty.
+
+Presently the sailor was shown in, the man who brought him leaving the
+room at once. He was a dark fellow, with sly black eyes, who, had he
+not spoken English so well, might have been taken for a Spaniard.
+
+“Who are you, and what is your business?” asked Betty sharply.
+
+“I am the carpenter of the ship Margaret,” he answered, “and I am here
+to say that our master Castell has met with an accident there, and
+desires that Mistress Margaret, his daughter, should come to him at
+once.”
+
+“What accident?” asked Betty.
+
+“In seeing to the stowage of cargo he slipped and fell down the hold,
+hurting his back and breaking his right arm, and that is why he cannot
+write. He is in great pain; but the physician whom we summoned bade me
+tell Mistress Margaret that at present he has no fear for his life. Are
+you Mistress Margaret?”
+
+“No,” answered Betty; “but I will go to her at once; do you bide here.”
+
+“Then are you her cousin, Mistress Betty Dene, for if so I have
+something for you?”
+
+“I am. What is it?”
+
+“This,” said the man, drawing out a letter which he handed to her.
+
+“Who gave you this?” asked Betty suspiciously.
+
+“I do not know his name, but he was a noble-looking Spanish Don, and a
+liberal one too. He had heard of the accident on the Margaret, and,
+knowing my errand, asked me if I would deliver this letter to you, for
+the fee of a gold ducat, and promise to say nothing of it to any one
+else.”
+
+“Some rude gallant, doubtless,” said Betty, tossing her head; “they are
+ever writing to me. Bide here; I go to Mistress Margaret.”
+
+Once she was outside the door Betty broke the seal of the letter
+eagerly enough, for she had been taught with Margaret, and could read
+well. It ran:
+
+ “BELOVED,  “You thought me faithless and gone, but it is not so. I was
+silent only because I knew you could not come alone who are watched;
+but now the God of Love gives us our chance. Doubtless your cousin will
+bring you with her to visit her father, who lies on his ship sadly
+hurt. While she is with him I have made a plan to rescue you, and then
+we can be wed and sail at once—yes, to-night or to-morrow, for with
+much trouble, knowing that you wished it, I have even succeeded in
+bringing that about, and a priest will be waiting to marry us. Be
+silent, and show no doubt or fear, whatever happens, lest we should be
+parted for always. Be sure then that your cousin comes that you may
+accompany her. Remember that your true love waits you.
+
+“C. d’A.”
+
+When Betty had mastered the contents of this amorous effusion she went
+pale with joy, and turned so faint that she was like to fall. Then a
+doubt struck her that it might be some trick. No, she knew the
+writing—it was d’Aguilar’s, and he was true to her, and would marry her
+as he had promised, and take her to be a great lady in Spain. If she
+hesitated now she might lose him for ever—him whom she would follow to
+the end of the world. In an instant her mind was made up, for Betty had
+plenty of courage. She would go, even though she must desert the cousin
+whom she loved.
+
+Thrusting the letter into her bosom she ran to Margaret’s room, and,
+bursting into it, told her of the man and his sad message. But of that
+letter she said nothing. Margaret turned white at the news, then,
+recovering herself, said:
+
+“I will come and speak with him at once.” And together they went down
+the stairs.
+
+To Margaret the sailor repeated his story, nor could all her questions
+shake it. He told her how the mischance had happened, for he had seen
+it, so he said, and where her father’s hurts were, adding, that
+although the physician held that as yet he was in no danger of his
+life, Master Castell thought otherwise, and did nothing but cry that
+his daughter should be brought to him at once.
+
+Still Margaret doubted and hesitated, for she feared she knew not what.
+
+“Peter should be here within two hours at most,” she said to Betty.
+“Would it not be best to wait for him?”
+
+“Oh! Margaret, and what if your father should die in the meanwhile?
+Perhaps he knows better how deep his hurts are than does this leech. If
+so, you would have a sore heart for all your life. Sure you had better
+go, or at the least I will.”
+
+Still Margaret wavered, till the sailor said:
+
+“Lady, if it is your will to come, I can guide you to where a boat
+waits to take you across the river. If not, I must be gone, for the
+ship sails with the moonrise, and they only wait your coming to carry
+the master, your father, to the warehouse on shore thinking it best
+that you should be present. If you do not come, this will be done as
+gently as possible, and there you must seek him to-morrow, alive or
+dead.” And the man took up his cap as though to leave.
+
+“I will come with you,” said Margaret. “Betty, you are right; order the
+two horses to be saddled, mine and the groom’s, with a pillion on which
+you can ride, for I will not send you or go alone, understand that this
+sailor has his own horse.”
+
+The man nodded, and accompanied Betty to the stable. Then Margaret took
+pen and wrote hastily to Peter, telling him of their evil chance, and
+bidding him follow her at once to the ship, or, if it had sailed to the
+warehouse. “I am loth to go,” she added “alone with a girl and a
+strange man, yet I must since my heart is torn with fear for my beloved
+father. Sweetheart, follow me quickly.”
+
+This done, she gave the letter to that servant who had shown in the
+sailor, bidding him hand it, without fail, to Master Peter Brome when
+he came, which the man promised to do.
+
+Then she fetched plain dark cloaks for herself and Betty, with hoods to
+them, that their faces might not be seen, and presently they were
+mounted.
+
+“Stay!” said Margaret to the sailor as they were about to start. “How
+comes it that my father did not send one of his own men instead of you,
+and why did none write to me?”
+
+The man looked surprised; he was a very good actor.
+
+“His people were tending him,” he said, “and he bade me to go because I
+knew the way, and had a good, hired horse ashore which I have used when
+riding with messages to London about new timbers and other matters. As
+for writing, the physician began a letter, but he was so slow and long
+that Master Castell ordered me to be off without it. It seems,” the man
+added, addressing Betty with some irritation, “that Mistress Margaret
+misdoubts me. If so, let her find some other guide, or bide at home. It
+is naught to me, who have only done as I was bidden.”
+
+Thus did this cunning fellow persuade Margaret that her fears were
+nothing, though, remembering the letter from d’Aguilar, Betty was
+somewhat troubled. The thing had a strange look, but, poor, vain fool,
+she thought to herself that, even if there were some trick, it was
+certainly arranged only that she might seem to be taken, who could not
+come alone. In truth she was blind and mad, and cared not what she did,
+though, let this be said for her, she never dreamed that any harm was
+meant towards her cousin Margaret, or that a lie had been told as to
+Master Castell and his hurts.
+
+Soon they were out of London, and riding swiftly by the road that
+followed the north bank of the river, for their guide did not take them
+over the bridge, as he said the ship was lying in mid-stream and that
+the boat would be waiting on the Tilbury shore. But there was more than
+twenty miles to travel, and, push on as they would, night had fallen
+ere ever they came there. At length, when they were weary of the dark
+and the rough road, the sailor pulled up at a spot upon the river’s
+brink—where there was a little wharf, but no houses that they could
+see—saying that this was the place. Dismounting, he gave his horse to
+the groom to hold, and, going to the wharf, asked in a loud voice if
+the boat from the Margaret was there, to which a voice answered, “Aye.”
+Then he talked for a minute to those in the boat, though what he said
+they could not hear, and ran back again, bidding them dismount, and
+adding that they had done well to come, as Master Castell was much
+worse, and did nothing but cry for his daughter.
+
+The groom he told to lead the horses a little way along the bank till
+he found an inn that stood there, where he must await their return or
+further orders, and to Betty he suggested that she should go with him,
+as there was but little place left in the boat. This she was willing
+enough to do, thinking it all part of the plan for her carrying off;
+but Margaret would have none of it, saying that unless her cousin came
+with her she would not stir another step. So grumbling a little the
+sailor gave way, and hurried them both to some wooden steps and down
+these into a boat, of which they could but dimly see the outline.
+
+So soon as ever they were seated side by side in the stern it was
+pushed off, and rowed away rapidly into the darkness, while one of the
+sailors lit a lantern which he fastened to the bow, and far out on the
+river, as though in answer to the signal, another star of light
+appeared, towards which they headed. Now Margaret, speaking through the
+gloom, asked the rowers of her father’s state; but the sailor, their
+guide, prayed her not to trouble them, as the tide ran very swiftly and
+they must give all their mind to their business lest they should
+overset. So she was silent, and, racked with doubts and fears, watched
+that star of light growing ever nearer, till at length it hung above
+them.
+
+“Is that the ship Margaret?” cried their guide, and again a voice
+answered “Aye.”
+
+“Then tell Master Castell that his daughter has come at last,” he
+shouted again, and in another minute a rope had been thrown to them,
+and they were fast alongside a ladder on to which Betty, who was
+nearest to it, was pushed the first, except for their guide, who had
+run up the wooden steps very swiftly.
+
+Betty, who was active and strong, followed him, Margaret coming next.
+As she reached the deck Betty thought she heard a voice say in Spanish,
+of which she understood something, “Fool! Why have you brought both?”
+but the answer she could not catch. Then she turned and gave her hand
+to Margaret, and together they walked forward to the foot of the mast.
+
+“Lead me to my father,” said Margaret.
+
+Whereon the guide answered:
+
+“Yes, this way, Mistress, but come alone, for the sight of two of you
+at once may disturb him.”
+
+“Nay,” she answered, “my cousin comes with me.” And she took Betty’s
+hand and clung to it.
+
+Shrugging his shoulders the sailor led them forwards, and as they went
+she noted that men were hauling on a sail, while other men, who sang a
+strange, wild song, worked on what seemed to be a windlass. Now they
+reached a cabin, and entered it, the door being shut behind them. In
+the cabin a man sat at a table with a lamp hanging over his head. He
+rose and turned towards them, bowing, and Margaret saw that it
+was—d’Aguilar!
+
+Betty stood silent; she had expected to meet him, though not here and
+thus. Her foolish heart bounded so at the sight of him that she seemed
+to choke, and could only wonder dimly what mistake had been made, and
+how he would explain to Margaret and get her away, leaving herself and
+him together to be married. Indeed, she searched the cabin with her
+eyes to see where the priest was waiting, then noting a door beyond,
+thought that doubtless he must be hidden there. As for Margaret, she
+uttered a little stifled cry, then, being a brave woman, one of that
+high nature which grows strong in the face of trouble, straightened
+herself to her full height and said in a low, fierce voice:
+
+“What do you here? Where is my father?”
+
+“Señora,” he answered humbly, “I am on board my ship, the San Antonio,
+and as for your father, he is either on his ship, the Margaret, or more
+likely, by now, at his house in Holborn.”
+
+At these words Margaret reeled back till the wall of the cabin stayed
+her, and there she rested.
+
+“Spare me your reproaches,” went on d’Aguilar hurriedly. “I will tell
+you all the truth. First, be not anxious as to your father; no accident
+has happened to him; he is sound and well. Forgive me if you have
+suffered pain and doubt; but there was no other way. That tale was only
+one of love’s snares and tricks——” He paused, overcome, fascinated by
+Margaret’s face, which of a sudden had grown awful—that of a goddess of
+vengeance, of a Medusa, which seemed to chill his blood to ice.
+
+“A snare! A trick!” she muttered hoarsely, while her eyes flamed on him
+like burning stars. “Thus then I pay you for your tricks.” And in an
+instant he became aware that she had snatched a dagger from her bosom
+and was springing on him.
+
+He could not move; those fearful eyes held him fast. In another moment
+that steel would have pierced his heart. But Betty had seen also, and,
+thrusting her strong arms about Margaret, held her back, crying:
+
+“Listen, you do not understand. It is I he wants—not you; I whom he
+loves, and who love him, and am about to marry him. You he will send
+back home.”
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+In another moment that steel would have pierced his heart
+
+“Loose me,” said Margaret, in such a voice that Betty’s arms fell from
+her, and she stood there, the dagger still in her hand. “Now,” she said
+to d’Aguilar, “the truth, and be swift with it. What means this woman?”
+
+“She knows best,” answered d’Aguilar uneasily. “It has pleased her to
+wrap herself in this web of conceits.”
+
+“Which it has pleased you to spin, perchance. Speak, girl!”
+
+“He made love to me,” gasped Betty; “and I love him. He promised to
+marry me. He sent me a letter but to-day—here it is,” and she drew it
+out.
+
+“Read,” said Margaret; and Betty read.
+
+“So you have betrayed me,” said Margaret, “you, my cousin, whom I have
+sheltered and cherished.”
+
+“No,” cried Betty. “I never thought to betray you; sooner would I have
+died. I believed that your father was hurt, and that while you were
+visiting him that man would take me.”
+
+“What have you to say?” asked Margaret of d’Aguilar in the same
+dreadful voice. “You offered your accursed love to me—and to her, and
+you have snared us both. Man, what have you to say?”
+
+“Only this”, he answered, trying to look brave, “that woman is a fool,
+whose vanity I played on that I might make use of her to keep near to
+you.”
+
+“Do you hear, Betty? do you hear?” cried Margaret with a terrible
+little laugh; but Betty only groaned as though she were dying.
+
+“I love you, and you only,” went on d’Aguilar. “As for your cousin, I
+will send her ashore. I have committed this sin because I could not
+help myself. The thought that you were to be married to another man
+to-morrow drove me mad, and I dared all to take you from his arms, even
+though you should never come to mine. Did I not swear to you,” he said
+with an attempt at his old gallantry, “that your image should accompany
+me to Spain, whither we are sailing now?” And as he spoke the words the
+ship lurched a little in the wind.
+
+Margaret made no answer, only toyed with the dagger blade, and watched
+him with eyes that glittered more coldly than its steel.
+
+“Kill me, if you will, and have done,” he went on in a voice that was
+desperate with love and shame. “So shall I be rid of all this torment.”
+
+Then Margaret seemed to awake, for she spoke to him in a new voice—a
+measured, frozen voice. “No,” she answered, “I will not stain my hands
+even with your blood, for why should I rob God of His own vengeance? If
+you attempt to touch me, or even to separate me from this poor woman
+whom you have fooled, then I will kill—not you, but myself, and I swear
+to you that my ghost shall accompany you to Spain, and from Spain down
+to the hell that awaits you. Listen, Carlos d’Aguilar, Marquis of
+Morella, this I know about you, that you believe in God and hear His
+anger. Well, I call down upon you the vengeance of Almighty God. I see
+it hang above your head. I say that it shall fall upon you, waking and
+sleeping, loving and hating, in life and in death to all eternity. Do
+your worst, for you shall do it all in vain. Whether I die or whether I
+live, every pang that you cause me to suffer, every misery that you
+have brought, or shall bring, upon the head of my betrothed, my father,
+and this woman, shall be repaid to you a millionfold in this world and
+the next. Now do you still wish that I should accompany you to Spain,
+or will you let me go?”
+
+“I cannot,” he answered hoarsely; “it is too late.”
+
+“So be it, I will accompany you to Spain, I and Betty Dene, and the
+vengeance of Almighty God that hovers over you. Of this at least be
+sure—I hate you, I despise you, but I fear you not at all. Go.” Then
+d’Aguilar stumbled from that cabin, and the two women heard the door
+bolted behind him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+THE CHASE.
+
+
+About the time that Margaret and Betty were being rowed aboard the San
+Antonio, Peter Brome and his servants, who had been delayed an hour or
+more by the muddy state of the roads, pulled rein at the door of the
+house in Holborn. For over a month he had been dreaming of this moment
+of return, as a man does who expects such a welcome as he knew awaited
+him, and who on the morrow was to be wed to a lovely and beloved bride.
+He had thought how Margaret would be watching at the window, how,
+spying him advancing down the street, she would speed to the door, how
+he would leap from his horse and take her to his arms in front of every
+one if need be—for why should they be ashamed who were to be wed upon
+the morrow?
+
+But there was no Margaret at the window, or at any rate he could not
+see her, for it was dark. There was not even a light; indeed the whole
+face of the old house seemed to frown at him through the gloom. Still,
+Peter played his part according to the plan; that is, he leapt from his
+horse, ran to the door and tried to enter, but could not for it was
+locked, so he hammered on it with the handle of his sword, till at
+length some one came and unbolted. It was the hired man with whom
+Margaret had left the letter, and he held a lantern in his hand.
+
+The sight of him frightened Peter, striking a chill to his heart.
+
+“Who are you?” he asked; then, without waiting for an answer, went on,
+“Where are Master Castell and Mistress Margaret?”
+
+The man answered that the master was not yet back from his ship, and
+that the Lady Margaret had gone out nearly three hours before with her
+cousin Betty and a sailor—all of them on horseback.
+
+“She must have ridden to meet me, and missed us in the dark,” said
+Peter aloud, whereon the man asked whether he spoke to Master Brome,
+since, if so, he had a letter for him.
+
+“Yes,” answered Peter, and snatched it from his hand, bidding him close
+the door and hold up the lantern while he read, for he could see that
+the writing was that of Margaret.
+
+“A strange story,” he muttered, as he finished it. “Well, I must away,”
+and he turned to the door again.
+
+As he stretched out his hand to the key, it opened, and through it came
+Castell, as sound as ever he had been.
+
+“Welcome, Peter!” he cried in a jolly voice. “I knew you were here, for
+I saw the horses; but why are you not with Margaret?”
+
+“Because Margaret has gone to be with you, who should be hurt almost to
+death, or so says this letter.”
+
+“To be with me—hurt to the death! Give it me—nay, read it, I cannot
+see.”
+
+So Peter read.
+
+“I scent a plot,” said Castell in a strained voice as he finished, “and
+I think that hound of a Spaniard is at the bottom of it, or Betty, or
+both. Here, you fellow, tell us what you know, and be swift if you
+would keep a sound skin.”
+
+“That would I, why not?” answered the man, and told all the tale of the
+coming of the sailor.
+
+“Go, bid the men bring back the horses, all of them,” said Castell
+almost before he had done; “and, Peter, look not so dazed, but come,
+drink a cup of wine. We shall need it, both of us, before this night is
+over. What! is there never a fellow of all my servants in the house?”
+So he shouted till his folk, who had returned with him from the ship,
+came running from the kitchen.
+
+He bade them bring food and liquor, and while they gulped down the
+wine, for they could not eat, Castell told how their Mistress Margaret
+had been tricked away, and must be followed. Then, hearing the horses
+being led back from the stables, they ran to the door and mounted, and,
+followed by their men, a dozen or more of them, in all, galloped off
+into the darkness, taking another road for Tilbury, that by which
+Margaret went, not because they were sure of this, but because it was
+the shortest.
+
+But the horses were tired, and the night was dark and rainy, so it came
+about that the clock of some church struck three of the morning before
+ever they drew near to Tilbury. Now they were passing the little quay
+where Margaret and Betty had entered the boat, Castell and Peter riding
+side by side ahead of the others in stern silence, for they had nothing
+to say, when a familiar voice hailed them—that of Thomas the groom.
+
+“I saw your horses’ heads against the sky,” he explained, “and knew
+them.”
+
+“Where is your mistress?” they asked both in a breath.
+
+“Gone, gone with Betty Dene in a boat, from this quay, to be rowed to
+the Margaret, or so I thought. Having stabled the horses as I was
+bidden, I came back here to await them. But that was hours ago, and I
+have seen no soul, and heard nothing except the wind and the water,
+till I heard the galloping of your horses.”
+
+“On to Tilbury, and get boats,” said Castell. “We must catch the
+Margaret ere she sails at dawn. Perhaps the women are aboard of her.”
+
+“If so, I think Spaniards took them there, for I am sure they were not
+English in that craft,” said Thomas, as he ran by the side of Castell’s
+horse, holding to the stirrup leather.
+
+His master made no answer, only Peter groaned aloud, for he too was
+sure that they were Spaniards.
+
+An hour later, just as the dawn broke, they with their men climbed to
+the deck of the Margaret while she was hauling up her anchor. A few
+words with her captain, Jacob Smith, told them the worst. No boat had
+left the ship, no Margaret had come aboard her. But some six hours
+before they had watched the Spanish vessel, San Antonio, that had been
+berthed above them, pass down the river. Moreover, two watermen in a
+skiff, who brought them fresh meat, had told them that while they were
+delivering three sheep and some fowls to the San Antonio, just before
+she sailed, they had seen two tall women helped up her ladder, and
+heard one of them say in English, “Lead me to my father.”
+
+Now they knew all the awful truth, and stared at each other like dumb
+men.
+
+It was Peter who found his tongue the first, and said slowly:
+
+“I must away to Spain to find my bride, if she still lives, and to kill
+that fox. Get you home, Master Castell.”
+
+“My home is where my daughter is,” answered Castell fiercely. “I go
+a-sailing also.”
+
+“There is danger for you in that land of Spaniards, if ever we get
+yonder,” said Peter meaningly.
+
+“If it were the mouth of hell, still I would go,” replied Castell. “Why
+should I not who seek a devil?”
+
+“That we do both,” said Peter, and stretching out his hand he took that
+of Castell. It was the pledge of the father and the lover to follow her
+who was all to them, till death stayed their quest.
+
+Castell thought a little while, then gave orders that all the crew
+should be called together on deck in the waist of the ship, which was a
+carack of about two hundred tons burden, round fashioned, and sitting
+deep in the water, but very strongly built of oak, and a swift sailer.
+When they were gathered, and with them the officers and their own
+servants, accompanied by Peter, he went and addressed them just as the
+sun was rising. In few and earnest words he told them of the great
+outrage that had been done, and how it was his purpose and that of
+Peter Brome who had been wickedly robbed of the maid who this day
+should have become his wife, to follow the thieves across the sea to
+Spain, in the hope that by the help of God, they might rescue Margaret
+and Betty. He added that he knew well this was a service of danger,
+since it might chance that there would be fighting, and he was loth to
+ask any man to risk life or limb against his will, especially as they
+came out to trade and not to fight. Still, to those who chose to
+accompany them, should they win through safely, he promised double
+wage, and a present charged upon his estate, and would give them
+writings to that effect. As for those who did not, they could leave the
+ship now before she sailed.
+
+When he had finished, the sailormen, of whom there were about thirty,
+with the stout-hearted captain, Jacob Smith, a sturdy-built man of
+fifty years of age, at the head of them, conferred together, and at
+last, with one exception—that of a young new-married man, whose heart
+failed him—they accepted the offer, swearing that they would see the
+thing through to the end, were it good or ill, for they were all
+Englishmen, and no lovers of the Spaniards. Moreover, so bitter a wrong
+stirred their blood. Indeed, although for the most part they were not
+sailors, six of the twelve men who had ridden with them from London
+prayed that they might come too, for the love they had to Margaret,
+their master, and Peter; and they took them. The other six they sent
+ashore again, bearing letters to Castell’s friends, agents, and reeves,
+as to the transfer of his business and the care of his lands, houses,
+and other properties during his absence. Also, they took a short will
+duly signed by Castell and witnessed, wherein he left all his goods of
+whatever sort that remained unsettled or undevised, to Margaret and
+Peter, or the survivor of them, or their heirs, or failing these, for
+the purpose of founding a hospital for the poor. Then these men bade
+them farewell and departed, very heavy at heart, just as the anchor was
+hauled home, and the sails began to draw in the stiff morning breeze.
+
+About ten o’clock they rounded the Nore bank safely, and here spoke a
+fishing-boat, who told them that more than six hours before they had
+seen the San Antonio sail past them down Channel, and noted two women
+standing on her deck, holding each other’s hands and gazing shorewards.
+Then, knowing that there was no mistake, there being nothing more that
+they could do, worn out with grief and journeying, they ate some food
+and went to their cabin to sleep.
+
+As he laid him down Peter remembered that at this very hour he should
+have been in church taking Margaret as his bride—Margaret, who was now
+in the power of the Spaniard—and swore a great and bitter oath that
+d’Aguilar should pay him back for all this shame and agony. Indeed,
+could his enemy have seen the look on Peter’s face he might well have
+been afraid, for this Peter was an ill man to cross, and had no
+forgiving heart; also, his wrong was deep.
+
+For four days the wind held, and they ran down Channel before it,
+hoping to catch sight of the Spaniard; but the San Antonio was a swift
+caravel of 250 tons with much canvas, for she carried four masts, and
+although the Margaret was also a good sailer, she had but two masts,
+and could not come up with her. Or, for anything they knew, they might
+have missed her on the seas. On the afternoon of the fourth day, when
+they were off the Lizard, and creeping along very slowly under a light
+breeze, the look-out man reported a ship lying becalmed ahead. Peter,
+who had the eyes of a hawk, climbed up the mast to look at her, and
+presently called down that he believed from her shape and rig she must
+be the caravel, though of this he could not be sure as he had never
+seen her. Then the captain, Smith, went up also, and a few minutes
+later returned saying that without doubt it was the San Antonio.
+
+Now there was a great and joyful stir on board the Margaret, every man
+seeing to his sword and their long or cross bows, of which there were
+plenty, although they had no bombards or cannon, that as yet were rare
+on merchant ships. Their plan was to run alongside the San Antonio and
+board her, for thus they hoped to recover Margaret. As for the anger of
+the king, which might well fall on them for this deed, since he would
+think little of the stealing of a pair of Englishwomen, of that they
+must take their chance.
+
+Within half an hour everything was ready, and Peter, pacing to and fro,
+looked happier than he had done since he rode away to Dedham. The light
+breeze still held, although, if it reached the San Antonio, it did not
+seem to move her, and, with the help of it, by degrees they came to
+within half a mile of the caravel. Then the wind dropped altogether,
+and there the two ships lay. Still the set of the tide, or some
+current, seemed to be drawing them towards each other, so that when the
+night closed in they were not more than four hundred paces apart, and
+the Englishmen had great hopes that before morning they would close,
+and be able to board by the light of the moon.
+
+But this was not to be, since about nine o’clock thick clouds rose up
+which covered the heavens, while with the clouds came strong winds
+blowing off the land, and, when at length the dawn broke, all they
+could see of the San Antonio was her topmasts as she rose upon the
+seas, flying southwards swiftly. This, indeed, was the last sight they
+had of her for two long weeks.
+
+From Ushant all across the Bay the airs were very light and variable,
+but when at length they came off Finisterre a gale sprang up from the
+north-east which drove them forward very fast. It was on the second
+night of this gale, as the sun set, that, running out of some mist and
+rain, suddenly they saw the San Antonio not a mile away, and rejoiced,
+for now they knew that she had not made for any port in the north of
+Spain, as, although she was bound for Cadiz, they feared she might have
+done to trick them. Then the rain came on again, and they saw her no
+more.
+
+All down the coast of Portugal the weather grew more heavy day by day,
+and when they reached St. Vincent’s Cape and bore round for Cadiz, it
+blew a great gale. Now it was that for the third time they viewed the
+San Antonio labouring ahead of them, nor, except at night, did they
+lose sight of her any more until the end of that voyage. Indeed, on the
+next day they nearly came up with her, for she tried to beat in to
+Cadiz, but, losing one of her masts in a fierce squall, and seeing that
+the Margaret, which sailed better in this tempest, would soon be aboard
+of her, abandoned her plan, and ran for the Straits of Gibraltar.
+
+Past Tarifa Point they went, having the coast of Africa on their right;
+past the bay of Algeçiras, where the San Antonio did not try to
+harbour; past Gibraltar’s grey old rock, where the signal fires were
+burning, and so at nightfall, with not a mile between them, out into
+the Mediterranean Sea.
+
+Here the gale was furious, so that they could scarcely carry a rag of
+canvas, and before morning lost one of their topmasts. It was an
+anxious night, for they knew not if they would live through it;
+moreover, the hearts of Castell and of Peter were torn with fear lest
+the Spaniard should founder and take Margaret with her to the bottom of
+the sea. When at length the wild, stormy dawn broke, however, they saw
+her, apparently in an evil case, labouring away upon their starboard
+bow, and by noon came to within a furlong of her, so that they could
+see the sailors crawling about on her high poop and stern. Yes, and
+they saw more than this, for presently two women ran from some cabin
+waving a white cloth to them; then were hustled back, whereby they
+learned that Margaret and Betty still lived and knew that they
+followed, and thanked God. Presently, also, there was a flash, and,
+before ever they heard the report, a great iron bullet fell upon their
+decks and, rebounding, struck a sailor, who stood by Peter, on the
+breast, and dashed him away into the sea. The San Antonio had fired the
+bombard which she carried, but as no more shots came they judged that
+the cannon had broke its lashings or burst.
+
+A while after the San Antonio, two of whose masts were gone, tried to
+put about and run for Malaga, which they could see far away beneath the
+snow-capped mountains of the Sierra. But this the Spaniard could not
+do, for while she hung in the wind the Margaret came right atop of her,
+and as her men laboured at the sails, every one of the Englishmen who
+could be spared, under the command of Peter, let loose on them with
+their long shafts and crossbows, and, though the heaving deck of the
+Margaret was no good platform, and the wind bent the arrows from their
+line, they killed and wounded eight or ten of them, causing them to
+loose the ropes so that the San Antonio swung round into the gale
+again. On the high tower of the caravel, his arm round the sternmost
+mast, stood d’Aguilar, shouting commands to his crew. Peter fitted an
+arrow to his string and, waiting until the Margaret was poised for a
+moment on the crest of a great sea, aimed and loosed, making allowance
+for the wind.
+
+True to line sped that shaft of his, yet, alas! a span too high, for
+when a moment later d’Aguilar leapt from the mast, the arrow quivered
+in its wood, and pinned to it was the velvet cap he wore. Peter ground
+his teeth in rage and disappointment; almost he could have wept, for
+the vessels swung apart again, and his chance was gone.
+
+“Five times out of seven,” he said bitterly, “can I send a shaft
+through a bull’s ring at fifty paces to win a village badge, and now I
+cannot hit a man to save my love from shame. Surely God has forsaken
+me!”
+
+Through all that afternoon they held on, shooting with their bows
+whenever a Spaniard showed himself, and being shot at in return, though
+little damage was done to either side. But this they noted—that the San
+Antonio had sprung a leak in the gale, for she was sinking deeper in
+the water. The Spaniards knew it also, and, being aware that they must
+either run ashore or founder, for the second time put about, and, under
+the rain of English arrows, came right across the bows of the Margaret,
+heading for the little bay of Calahonda, that is the port of Motril,
+for here the shore was not much more than a league away.
+
+“Now,” said Jacob Smith, the captain of the Margaret, who stood under
+the shelter of the bulwarks with Castell and Peter, “up that bay lies a
+Spanish town. I know it, for I have anchored there, and if once the San
+Antonio reaches it, good-bye to our lady, for they will take her to
+Granada, not thirty miles away across the mountains, where this Marquis
+of Morella is a mighty man, for there is his palace. Say then, master,
+what shall we do? In five more minutes the Spaniard will be across our
+bows again. Shall we run her down, which will be easy, and take our
+chance of picking up the women, or shall we let them be taken captive
+to Granada and give up the chase?”
+
+“Never,” said Peter. “There is another thing that we can do—follow them
+into the bay, and attack them there on shore.”
+
+“To find ourselves among hundreds of the Spaniards, and have our
+throats cut,” answered Smith, the captain, coolly.
+
+“If we ran them down,” asked Castell, who had been thinking deeply all
+this while, “should we not sink also?”
+
+“It might be so,” answered Smith; “but we are built of English oak, and
+very stout forward, and I think not. But she would sink at once, being
+near to it already, and the odds are that the women are locked in the
+cabin or between decks out of reach of the arrows, and must go with
+her.”
+
+“There is another plan,” said Peter sternly, “and that is to grapple
+with her and board her, and this I will do.”
+
+The captain, a stout man with a flat face that never changed, lifted
+his eyebrows, which was his only way of showing surprise.
+
+“What!” he said. “In this sea? I have fought in some wars, but never
+have I known such a thing.”
+
+“Then, friend, you shall know it now, if I can but find a dozen men to
+follow me,” answered Peter with a savage laugh. “What? Shall I see my
+mistress carried off before my eyes and strike no blow to save her?
+Rather will I trust in God and do it, and if I die, then die I must, as
+a man should. There is no other way.”
+
+Then he turned and called in a loud voice to those who stood around or
+loosed arrows at the Spaniard:
+
+“Who will come with me aboard yonder ship? Those who live shall spend
+their days in ease thereafter, that I promise, and those who fall will
+win great fame and Heaven’s glory.”
+
+The crew looked at the waves running hill high, and the water-logged
+Spaniard labouring in the trough of them as she came round slowly in a
+wide circle, very doubtfully, as well they might, and made no answer.
+Then Peter spoke again.
+
+“There is no choice,” he said. “If we give that ship our stem we can
+sink her, but then how will the women be saved? If we leave her alone,
+mayhap she will founder, and then how will the women be saved? Or she
+may win ashore, and they will be carried away to Granada, and how can
+we snatch them out of the hand of the Moors or of the power of Spain?
+But if we can take the ship, we may rescue them before they go down or
+reach land. Will none back me at this inch?”
+
+“Aye, son,” said old Castell, “I will.”
+
+Peter stared at him in surprise. “You—at your years!” he said.
+
+“Yes, at my years. Why not? I have the fewer to risk.”
+
+Then, as though he were ashamed of his doubts, one brawny sailorman
+stepped forward and said that he was ready for a cut at the Spanish
+thieves in foul weather as in fair. Next all Castell’s household
+servants came out in a body for love of him and Peter and their lady,
+and after them more sailors, till nearly half of those aboard,
+something over twenty in all, declared that they were ready for the
+venture, wherein Peter cried, “Enough.” Smith would have come also; but
+Castell said No, he must stop with the ship.
+
+Then, while the carack’s head was laid so as to cut the path of the San
+Antonio circling round them slowly like a wounded swan, and the
+boarders made ready their swords and knives, for here archery would not
+avail them, Castell gave some orders to the captain. He bade him, if
+they were cut down or taken, to put about and run for Seville, and
+there deliver over the ship and her cargo to his partners and
+correspondents, praying them in his name to do their best by means of
+gold, for which the sale value of the vessel and her goods should be
+chargeable, or otherwise, to procure the release of Margaret and Betty,
+if they still lived, and to bring d’Aguilar, the Marquis of Morella, to
+account for his crime. This done, he called to one of his servants to
+buckle on him a light steel breastplate from the ship’s stores. But
+Peter would wear no iron because it was too heavy, only an archer’s
+jerkin of bull-hide, stout enough to turn a sword-cut, such as the
+other boarders put on also with steel caps, of both of which they had a
+plenty in the cabin.
+
+Now the San Antonio, having come round, was steering for the mouth of
+the bay in such fashion that she would pass them within fifty yards.
+Hoisting a small sail to give his ship way, the captain, Smith, took
+the helm of the Margaret and steered straight at her so as to cut her
+path, while the boarders, headed by Peter and Castell, gathered near
+the bowsprit, lay down there under shelter of the bulwarks, and waited.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+THE MEETING ON THE SEA.
+
+
+For another minute or more the San Antonio held on until she divined
+the desperate purpose of her foe. Then, seeing that soon the carack’s
+prow must crash into her frail side, she shifted her helm and came
+round several points, so that in the end the Margaret ran, not into
+her, but alongside of her, grinding against her planking, and shearing
+away a great length of her bulwark. For a few seconds they hung
+together thus, and, before the seas bore them apart, grapnels were
+thrown from the Margaret whereof one forward got hold and brought them
+bow to bow. Thus the end of the bowsprit of the Margaret projected over
+the high deck of the San Antonio.
+
+“Now for it,” said Peter. “Follow me, all.” And springing up, he ran to
+the bowsprit and began to swarm along it.
+
+It was a fearful task. One moment the great seas lifted him high into
+the air, and the next down he came again till the massive spar crashed
+on to the deck of the San Antonio with such a shock that he nearly flew
+from it like a stone from a sling. Yet he hung on, and, biding his
+chance, seized a broken stay-rope that dangled from the end of the
+bowsprit like a lash from a whip, and began to slide down it. The gale
+caught him and blew him to and fro; the vessel, pitching wildly, jerked
+him into the air; the deck of the San Antonio rose up and receded like
+a thing alive. It was near—not a dozen feet beneath him—and loosing his
+hold he fell upon the forward tower without being hurt then, gaining
+his feet, ran to the broken mast and flinging his left arm about it,
+with the other drew his sword.
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+The gale caught him and blew him to and fro
+
+Next instant—how, he never knew—Castell was at his side, and after him
+came two more men, but one of these rolled from the deck into the sea
+and was lost. As he vanished, the chain of the grappling iron parted,
+and the Margaret swung away from them, leaving those three alone in the
+power of their foes, nor, do what she would, could she make fast again.
+As yet, however, there were no Spaniards to be seen, for the reason
+that none had dared to stand upon this high tower whereof the bulwarks
+were all gone, while the bowsprit of the Margaret crashed down upon it
+like a giant’s club, and, as she rolled, swept it with its point.
+
+So there they stood, clinging to the mast and waiting for the end, for
+now their friends were a hundred yards away, and they knew that their
+case was desperate. A shower of arrows came, loosed from other parts of
+the ship, and one of these struck the man with them through the throat,
+so that he fell to the deck clasping at it, and presently rolled into
+the sea also. Another pierced Castell through his right forearm,
+causing his sword to drop and slide away from him. Peter seized the
+arrow, snapped it in two, and drew it out; but Castell’s right arm was
+now helpless, and with his left he could do no more than cling to the
+broken mast.
+
+“We have done our best, son,” he said, “and failed. Margaret will learn
+that we would have saved her if we could, but we shall not meet her
+here.”
+
+Peter ground his teeth, and looked about him desperately, for he had no
+words to say. What should he do? Leave Castell and rush for the waist
+of the ship and so perish, or stay and die there? Nay, he would not be
+butchered like a bird on a bough, he would fall fighting.
+
+“Farewell,” he called through the gale. “God rest our souls!” Then,
+waiting till the ship steadied herself, he ran aft, and reaching the
+ladder that led to her tower, staggered down it to the waist of the
+vessel, and at its foot halted, holding to the rail.
+
+The scene before him was strange enough, for there, ranged round the
+bulwarks, were the Spanish men, who watched him curiously, whilst a few
+paces away, resting against the mast, stood d’Aguilar, who lifted his
+hand, in which there was no weapon, and addressed him.
+
+“Señor Brome,” he shouted, “do not move another step or you are a dead
+man. Listen to me first, and then do what you will. Am I safe from your
+sword while I speak?”
+
+Peter nodded his head in assent, and d’Aguilar drew nearer, for even in
+that more sheltered place it was hard to hear because of the howling of
+the tempest.
+
+“Señor,” he said to Peter, “you are a very brave man, and have done a
+deed such as none of us have seen before; therefore, I wish to spare
+you if I may. Also, I have worked you bitter wrong, driven to it by the
+might of love and jealousy, for which reason also I wish to spare you.
+To set upon you now would be but murder, and, whatever else I do, I
+will not murder. First, let me ease your mind. Your lady and mine is
+aboard here; but fear not, she has come and will come to no harm from
+me, or from any man while I live. If for no other reason, I do not
+desire to affront one who, I hope, will be my wife by her own free
+will, and whom I have brought to Spain that she might not make this
+impossible by becoming yours. Señor, believe me, I would no more force
+a woman’s will than I would do murder on her lover.”
+
+“What did you, then, when you snatched her from her home by some foul
+trick?” asked Peter fiercely.
+
+“Señor, I did wrong to her and all of you, for which I would make
+amends.”
+
+“What amends? Will you give her back to me?”
+
+“No, that I cannot do, even if she should wish it, of which I am not
+sure; no—never while I live.”
+
+“Bring her forth, and let us hear whether she wishes it or no,” shouted
+Peter, hoping that his words would reach Margaret.
+
+But d’Aguilar only smiled and shook his head, then went on:
+
+“That I cannot either, for it would give her pain. Still, Señor, I will
+repay the heavy debt that I owe to you, and to you also, Señor.” And he
+bowed towards Castell who, unseen by Peter, had crept down the ladder,
+and now stood behind him staring at d’Aguilar with cold rage and
+indignation. “You have wrought us much damage, have you not? hunting us
+across the seas, and killing sundry of us with your arrows, and now you
+have striven to board our ship and put us to the sword, a design in
+which God has frustrated you. Therefore your lives are justly forfeit,
+and none would blame us if we slew you. Yet I spare you both. If it is
+possible I will put you back aboard the Margaret, and if it is not
+possible you shall be set free ashore to go unmolested whither you
+will. Thus I will wipe out my debt and be free of all reproach.”
+
+“Do you take me for such a man as yourself?” asked Peter, with a bitter
+laugh. “I do not leave this ship alive unless my affianced wife,
+Mistress Margaret, goes with me.”
+
+“Then, Señor Brome, I fear that you will leave it dead, as indeed we
+may all of us, unless we make land soon, for the vessel is filling fast
+with water. Still, knowing your metal, I looked for some such words
+from you, and am prepared with another offer which I am sure you will
+not refuse. Señor, our swords are much of the same length, shall we
+measure them against each other? I am a grandee of Spain, the Marquis
+of Morella, and it will, therefore, be no dishonour for you to fight
+with me.”
+
+“I am not so sure,” said Peter, “for I am more than that—an honest man
+of England, who never practised woman-stealing. Still, I will fight you
+gladly, at sea or on shore, wherever and whenever we meet, till one or
+both are dead. But what is the stake, and how do I know that some of
+these,” and he pointed to the crew, who were listening intently, “will
+not stab me from behind?”
+
+“Señor, I have told you that I do not murder, and that would be the
+foulest murder. As for the stake, it is Margaret to the victor. If you
+kill me, on behalf of all my company, I swear by our Saviour’s Blood
+that you shall depart with her and her father unharmed, and if I kill
+you, then you both shall swear that she shall be left with me, and no
+suit or question raised but to her woman I give liberty, who have seen
+more than enough of her.”
+
+“Nay,” broke in Castell, speaking for the first time, “I demand the
+right to fight with you also when my arm is healed.”
+
+“I refuse it,” answered d’Aguilar haughtily. “I cannot lift my sword
+against an old man who is the father of the maid who shall be my wife,
+and, moreover, a merchant and a Jew. Nay, answer me not, lest all these
+should remember your ill words. I will be generous, and leave you out
+of the oath. Do your worst against me, Master Castell, and then leave
+me to do my worst against you. Señor Brome, the light grows bad, and
+the water gains upon us. Say, are you ready?”
+
+Peter nodded his head, and they stepped forward.
+
+“One more word,” said d’Aguilar, dropping his sword-point. “My friends,
+you have heard our compact. Do you swear to abide by it, and, if I
+fall, to set these two men and the two ladies free on their own ship or
+on the land, for the honour of chivalry and of Spain?”
+
+The captain of the San Antonio and his lieutenants answered that they
+swore on behalf of all the crew.
+
+“You hear, Señor Brome. Now these are the conditions—that we fight to
+the death, but, if both of us should be hurt or wounded, so that we
+cannot despatch each other, then no further harm shall be done to
+either of us, who shall be tended till we recover or die by the will of
+God.”
+
+“You mean that we must die on each other’s swords or not at all, and if
+any foul chance should overtake either, other than by his adversary’s
+hand, that adversary shall not dispatch him?”
+
+“Yes, Señor, for in our case such things may happen,” and he pointed to
+the huge seas that towered over them, threatening to engulf the
+water-logged caravel. “We will take no advantage of each other, who
+wish to fight this quarrel out with our own right arms.”
+
+“So be it,” said Peter, “and Master Castell here is the witness to our
+bargain.”
+
+d’Aguilar nodded, kissed the cross-hilt of his sword in confirmation of
+the pact, bowed courteously, and put himself on his defence.
+
+For a moment they stood facing each other, a well-matched pair—Peter,
+lean, fierce-faced, long-armed, a terrible man to see in the fiery
+light that broke upon him from beneath the edge of a black cloud; the
+Spaniard tall also, and agile, but to all appearance as unconcerned as
+though this were but a pleasure bout, and not a duel to the death with
+a woman’s fate hanging on the hazard. d’Aguilar wore a breastplate of
+gold-inlaid black steel and a helmet, while Peter had but his tunic of
+bull’s hide and iron-lined cap, though his straight cut-and-thrust
+sword was heavier and mayhap half an inch longer than that of his foe.
+
+Thus, then, they stood while Castell and all the ship’s company, save
+the helmsman who steered her to the harbour’s mouth, clung to the
+bulwarks and the cordage of the mainmast, and, forgetful of their own
+peril, watched in utter silence.
+
+It was Peter who thrust the first, straight at the throat, but
+d’Aguilar parried deftly, so that the sword point went past his neck,
+and before it could be drawn back again, struck at Peter. The blow fell
+upon the side of his steel cap, and glanced thence to his left
+shoulder, but, being light, did him no harm. Swiftly came the answer,
+which was not light, for it fell so heavily upon d’Aguilar’s
+breastplate, that he staggered back. After him sprang Peter, thinking
+that the game was his, but at that moment the ship, which had entered
+the breakers of the harbour bar, rolled terribly, and sent them both
+reeling to the bulwarks. Nor did she cease her rolling, so that,
+smiting and thrusting wildly, they staggered backwards and forwards
+across the deck, gripping with their left hands at anything they could
+find to steady them, till at length, bruised and breathless, they fell
+apart unwounded, and rested awhile.
+
+“An ill field this to fight on, Señor,” gasped d’Aguilar.
+
+“I think that it will serve our turn,” said Peter grimly, and rushed at
+him like a bull. It was just then that a great sea came aboard the
+ship, a mass of green water which struck them both and washed them like
+straws into the scuppers, where they rolled half drowned. Peter rose
+the first, coughing out salt water, and rubbing it from his eyes, to
+see d’Aguilar still upon the deck, his sword lying beside him, and
+holding his right wrist with his left hand.
+
+“Who gave you the hurt?” he asked, “I or your fall?”
+
+“The fall, Señor,” answered d’Aguilar; “I think that it has broken my
+wrist. But I have still my left hand. Suffer me to arise, and we will
+finish this fray.”
+
+As the words passed his lips a gust of wind, more furious than any that
+had gone before, concentrated as it was through a gorge in the
+mountains, struck the caravel at the very mouth of the harbour, and
+laid her over on her beam ends. For a while it seemed as though she
+must capsize and sink, till suddenly her mainmast snapped like a stick
+and went overboard, when, relieved of its weight, by slow degrees she
+righted herself. Down upon the deck came the cross yard, one end of it
+crashing through the roof of the cabin in which Margaret and Betty were
+confined, splitting it in two, while a block attached to the other fell
+upon the side of Peter’s head and, glancing from the steel cap, struck
+him on the neck and shoulder, hurling him senseless to the deck, where,
+still grasping his sword, he lay with arms outstretched.
+
+Out of the ruin of the cabin appeared Margaret and Betty, the former
+very pale and frightened, and the latter muttering prayers, but, as it
+chanced, both uninjured. Clinging to the tangled ropes they crept
+forward, seeking refuge in the waist of the ship, for the heavy spar
+still worked and rolled above them, resting on the wreck of the cabin
+and the bulwarks, whence presently it slid into the sea. By the stump
+of the broken mainmast they halted, their long locks streaming in the
+gale, and here it was that Margaret caught sight of Peter lying upon
+his back, his face red with blood, and sliding to and fro as the vessel
+rolled.
+
+She could not speak, but in mute appeal pointed first to him and then
+to d’Aguilar, who stood near, remembering as she did so her vision in
+the house at Holborn, which was thus terribly fulfilled. Holding to a
+rope, d’Aguilar drew near to her and spoke into her ear. “Lady,” he
+said, “this is no deed of mine. We were fighting a fair fight, for he
+had boarded the ship when the mast fell and killed him. Blame me not
+for his death, but seek comfort from God.”
+
+She heard, and, looking round her wildly, perceived her father
+struggling towards her; then, with a bitter cry, fell senseless on his
+breast.
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+“Lady,” he said, “this is no deed of mine”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+FATHER HENRIQUES.
+
+
+The night came down swiftly, for a great stormcloud, in which jagged
+lightning played, blotted out the last rays of the sunk sun. Then, with
+rolling thunder and torrents of rain, the tempest burst over the
+sinking ship. The mariners could no longer see to steer, they knew not
+whither they were going, only the lessened seas told them that they had
+entered the harbour mouth. Presently the San Antonio struck upon a
+rock, and the shock of it threw Castell, who was bending over the
+senseless shape of Margaret, against the bulwarks and dazed him.
+
+There arose a great cry of “The vessel founders!” and water seemed to
+be pouring on the deck, though whether this were from the sea or from
+the deluge of the falling rain he did not know. Then came another cry
+of “Get out the boat, or we perish!” and a sound of men working in the
+darkness. The ship swung round and round and settled down. There was a
+flash of lightning, and by it Castell saw Betty holding the unconscious
+Margaret in her strong arms. She saw him also, and screamed to him to
+come to the boat. He started to obey, then remembered Peter. Peter
+might not be dead; what should he say to Margaret if he left him there
+to drown? He crept to where he lay upon the deck, and called to a
+sailor who rushed by to help him. The man answered with a curse, and
+vanished into the deep gloom. So, unaided, Castell essayed the task of
+lifting this heavy body, but his right arm being almost useless, could
+do no more than drag it into a sitting posture, and thus, by slow
+degrees, across the deck to where he imagined the boat to be.
+
+But here there was no boat, and now the sound of voices came from the
+other side of the ship, so he must drag it back again. By the time he
+reached the starboard bulwarks all was silent, and another flash of
+lightning showed him the boat, crowded with people, upon the crest of a
+wave, fifty yards or more from him, whilst others, who had not been
+able to enter, clung to its stern and gunwale. He shouted aloud, but no
+answer came, either because none were left living on the ship, or
+because in all that turmoil they could not hear him.
+
+Then Castell, knowing that he had done everything that he could,
+dragged Peter under the overhanging deck of the forward tower, which
+gave some little shelter from the rain, and, laying his bleeding head
+upon his knees so that it might be lifted above the wash of the waters,
+sat himself down and began to say prayers after the Jewish fashion
+whilst awaiting his end.
+
+That he was about to die he had no doubt, for the waist of the ship, as
+he could perceive by the lightning, was almost level with the sea,
+which, however, here in the harbour was now much calmer than it had
+been. This he knew, for although the rain still fell steadily and the
+wind howled above, no spray broke over them. Deeper and deeper sank the
+caravel as she drifted onwards, till at length the water washed over
+her deck from side to side, so that Castell was obliged to seat himself
+on the second step of the ladder down which Peter had charged up on the
+Spaniards. A while passed, and he became aware that the San Antonio had
+ceased to move, and wondered what this might mean. The storm had rolled
+away now, and he could see the stars; also with it went the wind. The
+night grew warmer, too, which was well for him, for otherwise, wet as
+he was, he must have perished. Still it was a long night, the longest
+that ever he had spent, nor did any sleep come to relieve his misery or
+make his end easier, for the pain from the arrow wound in his arm kept
+him awake.
+
+So there he sat, wondering if Margaret was dead, as Peter seemed to be
+dead, and if so, whether their spirits were watching him now, watching
+and waiting till he joined them. He thought, too, of the days of his
+prosperity until he had seen the accursed face of d’Aguilar, and of all
+the worthless wealth that was his, and what would become of it. He
+hoped even that Margaret was gone; better that she should be dead than
+live on in shame and misery. If there were a God, how came it that He
+could allow such things to happen in the world? Then he remembered how,
+when Job sat in just such an evil case, his wife had invited him to
+curse God and die, and how the patriarch had answered to her, “What!
+shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive
+evil?” Remembered, too, after all his troubles, what had been the end
+of that just man, and therefrom took some little comfort. After this a
+stupor crept over him, and his last thought was that the vessel had
+sunk and he was departing into the deeps of death.
+
+Listen! A voice called, and Castell awoke to see that it was growing
+light, and that before him supporting himself on the rail of the
+ladder, stood the tall form of Peter—Peter with a ghastly,
+blood-stained countenance, chattering teeth, and glazed, unnatural
+eyes.
+
+“Do you live, John Castell?” said that hollow voice, “or are we both
+dead and in hell?”
+
+“Nay,” he answered, “I live yet; we are still this side of doom.”
+
+“What has chanced?” asked Peter. “I have been lost in a great
+blackness.”
+
+Castell told him briefly.
+
+Peter listened till he had done, then staggered to the bulwark rail and
+looked about him, making no comment.
+
+“I can see nothing,” he said presently—“the mist is too deep; but I
+think we must lie near the shore. Come, help me. Let us try to find
+victuals; I am faint.”
+
+Castell rose, stretched his cramped limbs, and going to him, placed his
+uninjured arm round Peter’s middle, and thus supported him towards the
+stern of the ship, where he guessed that the main cabin would be. They
+found and entered it, a small place, but richly furnished, with a
+carved crucifix screwed to its sternmost wall. A piece of pickled meat
+and some of the hard wheaten cakes such as sailors use, lay upon the
+floor where they had been cast from the table, while in a swinging rack
+above stood flagons of wine and of water. Castell found a horn mug, and
+filling it with wine gave it to Peter, who drank greedily, then handed
+it back to him, who also drank. Afterwards they cut off portions of the
+meat with their knives, and swallowed them, though Peter did this with
+great difficulty because of the hurt to his head and neck. Then they
+drank more wine, and, somewhat refreshed, left the place.
+
+The mist was still so thick that they could see nothing, and therefore
+they went into the wreck of that cabin which had been occupied by
+Margaret and Betty, sat themselves down upon the bed wherein they had
+slept, and waited. Resting thus, Peter noted that this cabin had been
+fitted sumptuously as though for the occupation of a great lady, for
+even the vessels were of silver, and in a wardrobe, whereof the doors
+were open, hung beautiful gowns. Also, there were a few written books,
+on the outer leaves of one of which Margaret had set down some notes
+and a prayer of her own making, petitioning that Heaven would protect
+her; that Peter and her father might be living and learn the truth of
+what had befallen, and that it would please the saints to deliver her,
+and to bring them together again. This book Peter thrust away within
+his jerkin to study at his leisure.
+
+Now the sun rose suddenly above the eastern range of the mountains
+wherewith they were surrounded. Leaving the cabin, they climbed to the
+forecastle tower and gazed about them, to find that they were in a
+land-locked harbour, and stranded not more than a hundred yards from
+the shore. By tying a piece of iron to a rope and letting it down into
+the sea, they discovered that they lay upon a ridge, and that there
+were but four feet of water beneath their bow, and, having learned
+this, determined to wade to the beach. First, however, they went back
+to the cabin and filled a leather bag they found with food and wine.
+Then, by an afterthought, they searched for the place where d’Aguilar
+slept, and discovered it between decks; also a strong-box which they
+made shift to break open with an iron bar.
+
+In it was a great store of gold, placed there, no doubt, for the
+payment of the crew, and with it some jewels. The jewels they left, but
+the money they divided and stowed it about them to serve their needs
+should they come safe ashore. Then they washed each other’s wounds and
+bound them up, and descending the ladder which had been thrown over the
+ship’s side when the Spaniards escaped in the boat, let themselves down
+into the sea and bade farewell to the San Antonio.
+
+By now the wind had fallen and the sun shone brightly, warming their
+chilled blood; also the water, which was quite calm, did not rise much
+above their middles, so that they were able—the bottom being smooth and
+sandy—to wade without trouble to the shore. As they drew near to it
+they saw people gathering there, and guessed that they came from the
+little town of Motril, which lay up the river that here ran into the
+bay. Also they saw other things—namely, the boat of the San Antonio
+upon the shore, and rejoiced to know that it had come safe to land, for
+it rested upon its keel with but little water in its bottom. Lying here
+and there also were the corpses of drowned men, five or six of them: no
+doubt those sailors who had swum after the boat or clung to its
+gunwale, but among these bodies none were those of women.
+
+When at length they reached the shore, very few people were left there,
+for of the rest some had begun to wade out towards the ship to plunder
+her, whilst others had gone to fetch boats for the same purpose.
+Therefore, the company who awaited them consisted only of women,
+children, three old men, and a priest. The last, a hungry-eyed,
+smooth-faced, sly-looking man, advanced to greet them courteously,
+bidding them thank God for their escape.
+
+“That we do indeed,” said Castell; “but tell us, Father, where are our
+companions?”
+
+“There are some of them,” answered the priest, pointing to the dead
+bodies; “the rest, with the two señoras, started two hours ago for
+Granada. The Marquis of Morella, from whom I hold this cure, told us
+that his ship had sunk, and that no one else was left alive, and, as
+the mist hid everything, we believed him. That is why we were not here
+before, for,” he added significantly, “we are poor folk, to whom the
+saints send few wrecks.”
+
+“How did they go to Granada, Father?” asked Castell. “On foot?”
+
+“Nay, Señor, they took all the horses and mules in the village by
+force, though the marquis promised that he would return them and pay
+for their hire later, and we trusted him because we must. The ladies
+wept much, and prayed us to take them in and keep them; but this the
+marquis would not allow, although they seemed so sad and weary. God
+send that we see our good beasts back again,” he added piously.
+
+“Have you any left for us? We have a little money, and can pay for them
+if they be not too dear.”
+
+“Not one, Señor—not one; the place has been cleared even down to the
+mares in foal. But, indeed you seem scarcely fit to ride at present,
+who have undergone so much,” and he pointed to Peter’s wounded head and
+Castell’s bandaged arm. “Why do you not stay and rest awhile?”
+
+“Because I am the father of one of the señoras, and doubtless she
+thinks me drowned, and this señor is her affianced husband,” answered
+Castell briefly.
+
+“Ah!” said the priest, looking at them with interest, “then what
+relation to her is the marquis? Well, perhaps I had better not ask, for
+this is no confessional, is it? I understand that you are anxious, for
+that great grandee has the reputation of being gay—an excellent son of
+the Church, but without doubt very gay,” and he shook his shaven head
+and smiled. “But come up to the village, Señors, where you can rest and
+have your hurts attended to; afterwards we will talk.”
+
+“We had best go,” said Castell in English to Peter. “There are no
+horses on this beach, and we cannot walk to Granada in our state.”
+
+Peter nodded, and, led by the priest, whose name they discovered to be
+Henriques, they started.
+
+On the crest of the hill a few hundred paces away they turned and
+looked back, to see that every able-bodied inhabitant of the village
+seemed by now to be engaged in plundering the stranded vessel.
+
+“They are paying themselves for the mules and horses,” said Fray
+Henriques with a shrug. “So I see,” answered Castell, “but you——” and
+he stopped.
+
+“Oh, do not be afraid for me,” replied the priest with a cunning little
+smile. “The Church does not loot; but in the end the Church gets her
+share. These are a pious folk. Only when he learns that the caravel did
+not sink after all, I fear the marquis will demand an account of us.”
+
+Then they limped on over the hill, and presently saw the white-walled
+and red-roofed village beneath them on the banks of the river.
+
+Five minutes later their guide stopped at a door in a roughly paved
+street, which he opened with a key.
+
+“My humble dwelling, when I am in residence here, and not at Granada,”
+he said, “in which I shall be honoured to receive you. Look, near by is
+the church.”
+
+Then they entered a patio, or courtyard, where some orange-trees grew
+round a fountain of water, and a life-sized crucifix stood against the
+wall. As he passed this sacred emblem Peter bowed and crossed himself,
+an example that Castell did not follow. The priest looked at him
+sharply.
+
+“Surely, Señor,” he said, “you should do reverence to the symbol of our
+Saviour, who, by His mercy, have just been saved from the death which
+the marquis told me had overtaken both of you.”
+
+“My right arm is hurt,” answered Castell readily, “so I must do that
+reverence in my heart.”
+
+“I understand, Señor; but if you are a stranger to this country, which
+you do not seem to be, who speak its tongue so well, with your
+permission I will warn you that here it is wise not to confine your
+reverences to the heart. Of late the directors of the Inquisition have
+become somewhat strict, and expect that the outward forms should be
+observed as well. Indeed, when I was a familiar of the Holy Office at
+Seville, I have seen men burned for the neglect of them. You have two
+arms and a head, Señor, also a knee that can be bent.”
+
+“Pardon me,” answered Castell to this lecture. “I was thinking of other
+matters. The carrying off of my daughter at the hands of your patron,
+the Marquis of Morella, for instance.”
+
+Then, making no reply, the priest led them through his sitting-room to
+a bed-chamber with high barred windows, that, although it was large and
+lofty, reminded them somehow of a prison cell. Here he left them,
+saying that he would go to find the local surgeon, who, it seemed, was
+a barber also, if, indeed, he were not engaged in “lightening the
+ship,” recommending them meanwhile to take off their wet clothes and
+lie down to rest.
+
+A woman having brought hot water and some loose garments in which to
+wrap themselves while their own were drying, they undressed and washed
+and afterwards, utterly worn out, threw themselves down and fell asleep
+upon the beds, having first hidden away their gold in the food bag,
+which Peter placed beneath his pillow. Two hours later or more they
+were awakened by the arrival of Father Henriques and the
+barber-surgeon, accompanied by the woman-servant, and who brought them
+back their clothes cleaned and dried.
+
+When the surgeon saw Peter’s hurt to the left side of his neck and
+shoulder, which now were black, swollen, and very stiff, he shook his
+head, and said that time and rest alone could cure it, and that he must
+have been born under a fortunate star to have escaped with his life,
+which, save for his steel cap and leather jerkin, he would never have
+done. As no bones were broken, however, all that he could do was to
+dress the parts with some soothing ointment and cover them with clean
+cloths. This finished, he turned to Castell’s wound, that was through
+the fleshy part of the right forearm, and, having syringed it out with
+warm water and oil, bound it up, saying that he would be well in a
+week. He added drily that the gale must have been fiercer even than he
+thought, since it could blow an arrow through a man’s arm—a saying at
+which the priest pricked up his ears.
+
+To this Castell made no answer, but producing a piece of Morella’s
+gold, offered it to him for his services, asking him at the same time
+to procure them mules or horses, if he could. The barber promised to
+try to do so, and being well pleased with his fee, which was a great
+one for Motril, said that he would see them again in the evening, and
+if he could hear of any beasts would tell them of it then. Also he
+promised to bring them some clothes and cloaks of Spanish make, since
+those they had were not fit to travel in through that country, being
+soiled and blood-stained.
+
+After he had gone, and the priest with him, who was busy seeing to the
+division of the spoils from the ship and making sure of his own share,
+the servant, a good soul, brought them soup, which they drank. Then
+they lay down again upon the beds and talked together as to what they
+should do.
+
+Castell was downhearted, pointing out that they were still as far from
+Margaret as ever, who was now once more lost to them, and in the hand
+of Morella, whence they could scarcely hope to snatch her. It would
+seem also that she was being taken to the Moorish city of Granada, if
+she were not already there, where Christian law and justice had no
+power.
+
+When he had heard him out, Peter, whose heart was always stout,
+answered:
+
+“God has as much power in Granada as in London, or on the seas whence
+He has saved us. I think, Sir, that we have great reason to be thankful
+to God, seeing that we are both alive to-day, who might so well have
+been dead, and that Margaret is alive also, and, as we believe,
+unharmed. Further, this Spanish thief of women is, it would seem, a
+strange man, that is, if there be any truth in his words, for although
+he could steal her, it appears that he cannot find it in his heart to
+do her violence, but is determined to win her only with her own
+consent, which I think will not be had readily. Also, he shrinks from
+murder, who, when he could have butchered us, did not do so.”
+
+“I have known such men before,” said Castell, “who hold some sins
+venial, but others deadly to their souls. It is a fruit of
+superstition.”
+
+“Then, Sir, let us pray that Morella’s superstitions may remain strong,
+and get us to Granada as quickly as we can, for there, remember, you
+have friends, both among the Jews and Moors, who have traded with the
+place for many years, and these may give us shelter. Therefore, though
+things are bad, still they might be worse.”
+
+“That is so,” answered Castell more cheerfully, “if, indeed, she has
+been taken to Granada; and as to this, we will try to learn something
+from the barber or the Father Henriques.”
+
+“I put no faith in that priest, a sly fellow who is in the pay of
+Morella,” answered Peter.
+
+Then they were silent, being still very weary, and having nothing more
+to say, but much to think about.
+
+About sundown the doctor came back and dressed their wounds. He brought
+with him a stock of clothes of Spanish make, hats and two heavy cloaks
+fit to travel in, which they bought from him at a good price. Also, he
+said that he had two fine mules in the courtyard, and Castell went out
+to look at them. They were sorry beasts enough, being poor and wayworn,
+but as no others were to be had they returned to the room to talk as to
+the price of them and their saddles. The chaffering was long, for he
+asked twice their value, which Castell said poor shipwrecked men could
+not pay; but in the end they struck a bargain, under which the barber
+was to keep and feed the mules for the night, and bring them round next
+morning with a guide who would show them the road to Granada.
+Meanwhile, they paid him for the clothes, but not for the beasts.
+
+Also they tried to learn something from him about the Marquis of
+Morella, but, like the Fray Henriques, the man was cunning, and kept
+his mouth shut, saying that it was ill for poor men like himself to
+chatter of the great, and that at Granada they could hear everything.
+So he went away, leaving some medicine for them to drink, and shortly
+afterwards the priest appeared.
+
+He was in high good-humour, having secured those jewels which they had
+left behind in the iron coffer as his share of the spoil of the ship.
+Taking note of him as he showed and fondled them, Castell added up the
+man, and concluded that he was very avaricious; one who hated the
+poverty in which he had been reared, and would do much for money.
+Indeed, when he spoke bitterly of the thieves who had been at the
+ship’s strong-box and taken nearly all the gold, Castell determined
+that he must never know who those thieves were, lest they should meet
+with some accident on their journey.
+
+At length the trinkets were put away, and the priest said that they
+must sup with him, but lamented that he had no wine to give them, who
+was forced to drink water; whereon Castell prayed him to procure a few
+flasks of the best at their charges, which, nothing loth, he sent his
+servant out to do.
+
+So, dressed in their new Spanish clothes, and having all the gold
+hidden about them in two money-belts that they had bought from the
+barber at the same time, they went in to supper, which consisted of a
+Spanish dish called olla podrida—a kind of rich stew—bread, cheese, and
+fruit. Also the wine that they had bought was there, very good and
+strong, and, whilst taking but little of it themselves for fear they
+should fever their wounds, they persuaded Father Henriques to drink
+heartily, so that in the end he forgot his cunning, and spoke with
+freedom. Then, seeing that he was in a ripe humour, Castell asked him
+about the Marquis of Morella, and how it happened that he had a house
+in the Moorish capital of Granada.
+
+“Because he is half a Moor,” answered the priest. “His father, it is
+said, was the Prince of Viana, and his mother a lady of royal Moorish
+blood, from whom he inherited great wealth, and his lands and palace in
+Granada. There, too, he loves to dwell, who, although he is so good a
+Christian by faith, has many heathen tastes, and, like the Moors,
+surrounds himself with a seraglio of beautiful women, as I know, for
+often I act as his chaplain, as in Granada there are no priests.
+Moreover, there is a purpose in all this, for, being partly of their
+blood, he is accredited to the court of their sultan, Boabdil, by
+Ferdinand and Isabella in whose interests he works in secret. For,
+strangers, you should know, if you do not know it already, that their
+Majesties have for long been at war against the Moor, and purpose to
+take what remains of his kingdom from him, and make it Christian, as
+they have already taken Malaga, and purified it by blood and fire from
+the accursed stain of infidelity.”
+
+“Yes,” said Castell, “we heard that in England, for I am a merchant who
+have dealings with Granada, whither I am going on my affairs.”
+
+“On what affairs then goes the señora, who you say is your daughter,
+and what is that story that the sailors told of, about a fight between
+the San Antonio and an English ship, which indeed we saw in the offing
+yesterday? And why did the wind blow an arrow through your arm, friend
+Merchant? And how came it that you two were left aboard the caravel
+when the marquis and his people escaped?”
+
+“You ask many questions, holy Father. Peter, fill the glass of his
+reverence; he drinks nothing who thinks that it is always Lent. Your
+health, Father. Ah! well emptied. Fill it again, Peter, and pass me the
+flask. Now I will begin to answer you with the story of the shipwreck.”
+And he commenced an endless tale of the winds and sails and rocks and
+masts carried away, and of the English ship that tried to help the
+Spanish ship, and so forth, till at length the priest, whose glass
+Peter filled whenever his head was turned, fell back in his chair
+asleep.
+
+“Now,” whispered Peter in English across the table to Castell—“now I
+think that we had best go to bed, for we have learned much from this
+holy spy—as I take him to be—and told little.”
+
+So they crept away quietly to their chamber, and, having swallowed the
+draught that the doctor had given them, said their prayers each in his
+own fashion, locked the door, and lay down to rest as well as their
+wounds and sore anxieties would allow them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+THE ADVENTURE OF THE INN.
+
+
+Peter did not sleep well, for, notwithstanding all the barber’s
+dressing, his hurt pained him much. Moreover, he was troubled by the
+thought that Margaret must be sure that both he and her father were
+dead, and of the sufferings of her sore heart. Whenever he dozed off he
+seemed to see her awake and weeping, yes, and to hear her sobs and
+murmurings of his name. When the first light of dawn crept through the
+high-barred windows, he arose and called Castell, for they could not
+dress without each other’s help. Then they waited until they heard the
+sound of men talking and of beasts stamping in the courtyard without.
+Guessing that this was the barber with the mules, they unlocked their
+door and, finding the servant yawning in the passage, persuaded her to
+let them out of the house.
+
+The barber it was, sure enough, and with him a one-eyed youth mounted
+on a pony, who, he said, would guide them to Granada. So they returned
+with him into the house, where he looked at their wounds, shaking his
+head over that of Peter, who, he said, ought not to travel so soon.
+After this came more haggling as to the price of the mules, saddlery,
+saddle-bags in which they packed their few spare clothes, hire of the
+guide and his horse, and so forth, since, anxious as they were to get
+away, they did not dare to seem to have money to spare.
+
+At length everything was settled, and as their host, Father Henriques,
+had not yet appeared, they determined to depart without bidding him
+farewell, leaving some money in acknowledgment of his hospitality and
+as a gift to his church. Whilst they were handing it over to the
+servant, however, together with a fee for herself, the priest joined
+them, unshaven, and holding his hand to his tonsured head whilst he
+explained, what was not true, that he had been celebrating some early
+Mass in the church; then asked whither they were going.
+
+They told him, and pressed their gift upon him, which he accepted,
+nothing loth, though its liberality seemed to make him more urgent to
+delay their departure. They were not fit to travel; the roads were most
+unsafe; they would be taken captive by the Moors, and thrown into a
+dungeon with the Christian prisoners; no one could enter Granada
+without a passport, he declared, and so forth, to all of which they
+answered that they must go.
+
+Now he appeared to be much disturbed, and said finally that they would
+bring him into trouble with the Marquis of Morella—how or why, he would
+not explain, though Peter guessed that it might be lest the marquis
+should learn from them that this priest, his chaplain, had been
+plundering the ship which he thought sunk, and possessing himself of
+his jewels. At length, seeing that the man meant mischief and would
+stop them in some fashion if they delayed, they bade him farewell
+hastily, and, pushing past him, mounted the mules that stood outside
+and rode away with their guide.
+
+As they went they heard the priest, who now was in a rage, abusing the
+barber who had sold them the beasts, and caught the words “Spies,”
+“English señoras,” and “Commands of the Marquis,” so that they were
+glad when at length they found themselves outside the town, where as
+yet few were stirring, and riding unmolested on the road to Granada.
+
+This road proved to be no good one, and very hilly; moreover, the mules
+were even worse than they had thought, that which Peter rode stumbling
+continually. Now they asked the youth, their guide, how long it would
+take them to reach Granada; but all he answered them was:
+
+“Quien sabe?” (Who knows?) “It depends upon the will of God.”
+
+An hour later they asked him again, whereon he replied:
+
+Perhaps to-night, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps never, as there were many
+thieves about, and if they escaped the thieves they would probably be
+captured by the Moors.
+
+“I think there is one thief very near to us,” said Peter in English,
+looking at this ill-favoured young man, then added in his broken
+Spanish, “Friend, if we fall in with robbers or Moors, the first one
+who dies will be yourself,” and he tapped the hilt of his sword.
+
+The lad uttered a Spanish curse, and turned the head of his pony round
+as though he would ride back to Motril, then changed his mind and
+pushed on a long way in front of them, nor could they come near him
+again for hours. So hard was the road and so feeble were the mules
+that, notwithstanding a midday halt to rest them, it was nightfall
+before they reached the top of the Sierra, and in the last sunset glow,
+separated from them by the rich vega or plain, saw the minarets and
+palaces of Granada. Now they wished to push on, but their guide swore
+that it was impossible, as in the dark they would fall over precipices
+while descending to the plain. There was a venta or inn near by, he
+said, where they could sleep, starting again at dawn.
+
+When Castell said that they did not wish to go to an inn, he answered
+that they must, since they had eaten what food they had, and here on
+the road there was no fodder for the beasts. So, reluctantly enough,
+they consented, knowing that unless they were fed the mules would never
+carry them to Granada, whereon the guide, pointing out the house to
+them, a lonely place in a valley about a hundred yards from the road,
+said that he would go on to make arrangements, and galloped off.
+
+As they approached this hostelry, which was surrounded by a rough wall
+for purposes of defence, they saw the one-eyed youth engaged in earnest
+conversation with a fat, ill-favoured man who had a great knife stuck
+in his girdle. Advancing to them, bowing, this man said that he was the
+host, and, in reply to their request for food and a room, told them
+that they could have both.
+
+They rode into the courtyard, whereon the inn-keeper locked the door in
+the wall behind them, explaining that it was to keep out robbers, and
+adding that they were fortunate to be where they could sleep quite
+safely. Then a Moor came and led away their mule to the stable, and
+they accompanied the landlord into the sitting-room, a long, low
+apartment furnished with tables and benches, on which sat several
+rough-looking fellows, drinking wine. Here the host suddenly demanded
+payment in advance, saying that he did not trust strangers. Peter would
+have argued with him; but Castell, thinking it best to comply,
+unbuttoned his garments to get at his money, for he had no loose coin
+in his pocket, having paid away the last at Motril.
+
+His right hand being still helpless, this he did with his left, and so
+awkwardly that the small doubloon he took hold of slipped from his
+fingers and fell on to the floor. Forgetting that he had not
+re-fastened the belt, he bent down to pick it up, whereon a number of
+gold pieces of various sorts, perhaps twenty of them, fell out and
+rolled hither and thither on the ground. Peter, watching, saw the
+landlord and the other men in the room exchange a quick and significant
+glance. They rose, however, and assisted to find the money, which the
+host returned to Castell, remarking with an unpleasant smile, that if
+he had known that his guests were so rich he would have charged them
+more for their accommodation.
+
+“Of your good heart I pray you not,” answered Castell, “for that is all
+our worldly goods,” and even as he spoke another gold piece, this time
+a large doubloon, which had remained in his clothing, slipped to the
+floor.
+
+“Of course, Señor,” the host replied as he picked this up also and
+handed it back politely, “but shake yourself, there may still be a coin
+or two in your doublet.” Castell did so, whereon the gold in his belt,
+loosened by what had fallen out, rattled audibly, and the audience
+smiled again, while the host congratulated him on the fact that he was
+in an honest house, and not wandering on the mountains, which were the
+home of so many bad men.
+
+Having pocketed his money with the best grace he could, and buckled his
+belt beneath his robe, Castell and Peter sat down at a table a little
+apart, and asked if they could have some supper. The host assented, and
+called to the Moorish servant to bring food, then sat down also, and
+began to put questions to them, of a sort which showed that their guide
+had already told all their story.
+
+“How did you learn of our shipwreck?” asked Castell by way of answer.
+
+“How? Why, from the people of the marquis, who stopped here to drink a
+cup of wine when he passed to Granada yesterday with his company and
+two señoras. He said that the San Antonio had sunk, but told us nothing
+of your being left aboard of her.”
+
+“Then forgive us, friend, if we, whose business is of no interest to
+you, copy his discretion, as we are weary and would rest.”
+
+“Certainly, Señors—certainly,” replied the man; “I go to hasten your
+supper, and to fetch you a flask of the wine of Granada worthy of your
+degree,” and he left them.
+
+A while later their food came—good meat enough of its sort—and with it
+the wine in an earthenware jug, which, as he filled their horn mugs,
+the host said he had poured out of the flask himself that the crust of
+it might not slip. Castell thanked him, and asked him to drink a cup to
+their good journey; but he declined, answering that it was a fast day
+with him, on which he was sworn to touch only water. Now Peter, who had
+said nothing all this time, but noted much, just touched the wine with
+his lips, and smacked them as though in approbation while he whispered
+in English to Castell:
+
+“Drink it not; it is drugged!”
+
+“What says your son?” asked the host.
+
+“He says that it is delicious, but suddenly he has remembered what I
+too forgot, that the doctor at Motril forbade us to touch wine for fear
+lest we should worsen the hurts that we had in the shipwreck. Well, let
+it not be wasted. Give it to your friends. We must be content with
+thinner stuff.” And taking up a jug of water that stood upon the table,
+he filled an empty cup with it and drank, then passed it to Peter,
+while the host looked at them sourly.
+
+Then, as though by an afterthought, Castell rose and politely presented
+the jug of wine and the two filled mugs to the men who were sitting at
+a table close by, saying that it was a pity that they should not have
+the benefit of such fine liquor. One of these fellows, as it chanced,
+was their own guide, who had come in from tending the mules. They took
+the mugs readily enough, and two of them tossed off their contents,
+whereon, with a smothered oath, the landlord snatched away the jug and
+vanished with it.
+
+Castell and Peter went on with their meal, for they saw their
+neighbours eating of the same dish, as did the landlord also, who had
+returned, and, it seemed to Peter, was watching the two men who had
+drunk the wine with an anxious eye. Presently one of these rose from
+the table and, going to a bench on the other side of the room, flung
+himself down upon it and became quite silent, while their one-eyed
+guide stretched out his arms and fell face forward so that his head
+rested on an empty plate, where he remained apparently insensible. The
+host sprang up and stood irresolute, and Castell, rising, said that
+evidently the poor lad was sleepy after his long ride, and as they were
+the same, would he be so courteous as to show them to their room?
+
+He assented readily, indeed it was clear that he wished to be rid of
+them, for the other men were staring at the guide and their companion,
+and muttering amongst themselves.
+
+“This way, Señors,” he said, and led them to the end of the place where
+a broad step-ladder stood. Going up it, a lamp in his hand, he opened a
+trap-door and called to them to follow him, which Castell did. Peter,
+however, first turned and said good-night to the company who were
+watching them; at the same moment, as though by accident or
+thoughtlessly, half drawing his sword from its scabbard. Then he too
+went up the ladder, and found himself with the others in an attic.
+
+It was a bare place, the only furniture in it being two chairs and two
+rough wooden bedsteads without heads to them, mere trestles indeed,
+that stood about three feet apart against a boarded partition which
+appeared to divide this room from some other attic beyond. Also, there
+was a hole in the wall immediately beneath the eaves of the house that
+served the purpose of a window, over which a sack was nailed. “We are
+poor folk,” said the landlord as they glanced round this comfortless
+garret, “but many great people have slept well here, as doubtless you
+will also,” and he turned to descend the ladder.
+
+“It will serve,” answered Castell; “but, friend, tell your men to leave
+the stable open, as we start at dawn, and be so good as to give me that
+lamp.”
+
+“I cannot spare the lamp,” he grunted sulkily, with his foot already on
+the first step.
+
+Peter strode to him and grasped his arm with one hand, while with the
+other he seized the lamp. The man cursed, and began to fumble at his
+belt, as though for a knife, whereon Peter, putting out his strength,
+twisted his arm so fiercely that in his pain he loosed the lamp, which
+remained in Peter’s hand. The inn-keeper made a grab at it, missed his
+footing and rolled down the ladder, falling heavily on the floor below.
+
+Watching from above, to their relief they saw him pick himself up, and
+heard him begin to revile them, shaking his fist and vowing vengeance.
+Then Peter shut down the trap-door. It was ill fitted, so that the edge
+of it stood up above the flooring, also the bolt that fastened it had
+been removed, although the staples in which it used to work remained.
+Peter looked round for some stick or piece of wood to pass through
+these staples, but could find nothing. Then he bethought him of a short
+length of cord that he had in his pocket, which served to tie one of
+the saddle-bags in its place on his mule. This he fastened from one
+staple to the other, so that the trap-door could not be lifted more
+than an inch or two.
+
+Reflecting that this might be done, and the cord cut with a knife
+passed through the opening, he took one of the chairs and stood it so
+that two of its legs rested on the edge of the trap-door and the other
+two upon the boarding of the floor. Then he said to Castell:
+
+“We are snared birds; but they must get into the cage before they wring
+our necks. That wine was poisoned, and, if they can, they will murder
+us for our money—or because they have been told to do so by the guide.
+We had best keep awake to-night.”
+
+“I think so,” answered Castell anxiously. “Listen, they are talking
+down below.”
+
+Talking they were, as though they debated something, but after a while
+the sound of voices died away. When all was silent they hunted round
+the attic, but could find nothing that was unusual to such places.
+Peter looked at the window-hole, and, as it was large enough for a man
+to pass through, tried to drag one of the beds beneath it, thinking
+that if any such attempt were made, he who lay thereon would have the
+thief at his mercy, only to find, however, that these were screwed to
+the floor and immovable. As there was nothing more that they could do,
+they went and sat upon these beds, their bare swords in their hands,
+and waited a long while, but nothing happened.
+
+At length the lamp, which had been flickering feebly for some time,
+went out, lacking oil, and except for the light which crept through the
+window-place, for now they had torn away the sacking that hung over it,
+they were in darkness.
+
+A little while later they heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs, and the
+door of the house open and shut, after which there was more talking
+below, and mingling with it a new voice which Peter seemed to remember.
+
+“I have it,” he whispered to Castell. “Here is our late host, Father
+Henriques, come to see how his guests are faring.”
+
+Another half-hour and the waning moon rose, throwing a beam of light
+into their chamber; also they heard horse’s hoofs again. Going to the
+window, Peter looked out of it and saw the horse, a fine beast, being
+held by the landlord, then a man came and mounted it and, at some
+remark of his, turned his face upwards towards their window. It was
+that of Father Henriques.
+
+The two whispered together for a while till the priest blessed the
+landlord in Latin words and rode away, and again they heard the door of
+the house close.
+
+“He is off to Granada, to warn Morella his master of our coming,” said
+Castell, as they reseated themselves upon the beds.
+
+“To warn Morella that we shall never come, perhaps; but we will beat
+him yet,” replied Peter.
+
+The night wore on, and Castell, who was very weary, sank back upon the
+bolster and began to doze, when suddenly the chair that was set upon
+the trap-door fell over with a great clatter, and he sprang up, asking
+what that noise might be.
+
+“Only a rat,” answered Peter, who saw no good in telling him the
+truth—namely, that thieves or murderers had tried to open the
+trap-door.
+
+Then he crept down the room, felt the cord, to find that it was still
+uncut, and replaced the chair where it had been. This done, Peter came
+back to the bed and threw himself down upon it as though he would
+slumber, though never was he more wide awake. The weariness of Castell
+had overcome him again, however, for he snored at his side.
+
+For a long while nothing further happened, although once the ray of
+moonlight was cut off, and for an instant Peter thought that he saw a
+face at the window. If so, it vanished and returned no more. Now from
+behind their heads came faint sounds, like those of stifled breathing,
+like those of naked feet; then a slight creaking and scratching in the
+wall—a mouse’s tooth might have caused it—and suddenly, right in that
+ray of moonlight, a cruel-looking knife and a naked arm projected
+through the panelling.
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+A cruel-looking knife and a naked arm projected through the panelling
+
+The knife flickered for a second over the breast of the sleeping
+Castell as though it were a living thing that chose the spot where it
+would strike. One second—only one—for the next Peter had drawn himself
+up, and with a sweep of the sword which lay unscabbarded at his side,
+had shorn that arm off above the elbow, just where it projected from
+the panelling.
+
+“What was that?” asked Castell again, as something fell upon him.
+
+“A snake,” answered Peter, “a poisonous snake. Wake up now, and look.”
+
+Castell obeyed, staring in silence at the horrible arm which still
+clasped the great knife, while from beyond the panelling there came a
+stifled groan, then a sound as of a heavy body stumbling away.
+
+“Come,” said Peter, “let us be going, unless we would stop here for
+ever. That fellow will soon be back to seek his arm.”
+
+“Going! How?” asked Castell.
+
+“There seems to be but one road, and that a rough one, through the
+window and over the wall,” answered Peter. “Ah! there they come; I
+thought so.” And as he spoke they heard the sound of men scrambling up
+the ladder.
+
+They ran to the window-place and looked out, but there seemed to be no
+one below, and it was not more than twelve feet from the ground. Peter
+helped Castell through it, then, holding his sound arm with both his
+own, lowered him as far as he could, and let go. He dropped on to his
+feet, fell to the ground, then rose again, unhurt. Peter was about to
+follow him when he heard the chair tumble over again, and, looking
+round, saw the trap-door open, to fall back with a crash. They had cut
+the cord!
+
+The figure of a man holding a knife appeared in the faint light,
+followed by the head of another man. Now it was too late for him to get
+through the window-place safely; if he attempted it he would be stabbed
+in the back. So, grasping his sword with both hands, Peter leapt at
+that man, aiming a great stroke at his shadowy mass. It fell upon him
+somewhere, for down he went and lay quite still. By now the second man
+had his knee upon the edge of flooring. Peter thrust him through, and
+he sank backwards on to the heads of others who were following him,
+sweeping the ladder with his weight, so that all of them tumbled in a
+heap at its foot, save one who hung to the edge of the trap frame by
+his hands. Peter slammed its door to, crushing them so that he loosed
+his grip, with a howl. Then, as he had nothing else, he dragged the
+body of the dead man on to it and left him there.
+
+Next he rushed to the window, sheathing his sword as he ran, scrambled
+through it, and, hanging by his arms, let himself drop, coming to the
+ground safely, for he was very agile, and in the excitement of the fray
+forgot the hurt to his head and shoulder.
+
+“Where now?” asked Castell, as he stood by him panting.
+
+“To the stable for the mules. No, it is useless; we have no time to
+saddle them, and the outer gate is locked. The wall—the wall—we must
+climb it! They will be after us in a minute.”
+
+They ran thither and found that, though ten feet high, fortunately this
+wall was built of rough stone, which gave an easy foothold. Peter
+scrambled up first, then, lying across its top, stretched down his hand
+to Castell, and with difficulty—for the man was heavy and
+crippled—dragged him to his side. Just then they heard a voice from
+their garret shout:
+
+“The English devils have gone! Get to the door and cut them off.”
+
+“Come on,” said Peter. So together they climbed, or rather fell, down
+the wall on to a mass of prickly-pear bush, which broke the shock but
+tore them so sorely in a score of places that they could have shrieked
+with the pain. Somehow they freed themselves, and, bleeding all over,
+broke from that accursed bush, struggling up the bank of the ditch in
+which it grew, ran for the road, and along it towards Granada.
+
+Before they had gone a hundred yards they heard shoutings, and guessed
+that they were being followed. Just here the road crossed a ravine full
+of boulders and rough scrubby growth, whereas beyond it was bare and
+open. Peter seized Castell and dragged him up this ravine till they
+came to a place where, behind a great stone, there was a kind of hole,
+filled with bushes and tall, dead grass, into which they plunged and
+hid themselves.
+
+“Draw your sword,” he said to Castell. “If they find us, we will die as
+well as we can.”
+
+He obeyed, holding it in his left hand.
+
+They heard the robbers run along the road; then, seeing that they had
+missed their victims, these returned again, five or six of them, and
+fell to searching the ravine. But the light was very bad, for here the
+rays of the moon did not penetrate, and they could find nothing.
+Presently two of them halted within five paces of them and began to
+talk, saying that the swine must still be hidden in the yard, or
+perhaps had doubled back for Motril.
+
+“I don’t know where they are hidden,” answered the other man; “but this
+is a poor business. Fat Pedro’s arm is cut clean off, and I expect he
+will bleed to death, while two of the other fellows are dead or dying,
+for that long-legged Englishman hits hard, to say nothing of those who
+drank the drugged wine, and look as though they would never wake. Yes,
+a poor business to get a few doubloons and please a priest, but oh! if
+I had the hogs here I——” And he hissed out a horrible threat.
+“Meanwhile we had best lie up at the mouth of this place in case they
+should still be hidden here.”
+
+Peter heard him and listened. All the other men had gone, running back
+along the road. His blood was up, and the thorn pricks stung him
+sorely. Saying no word, out of his lair he came with that terrible
+sword of his aloft.
+
+The men caught sight of him, and gave a gasp of fear. It was the last
+sound that one of them ever made. Then the other turned and ran like a
+hare. This was he who had uttered the threat.
+
+“Stop!” whispered Peter, as he overtook him—“stop, and do what you
+promised.”
+
+The brute turned, and asked for mercy, but got none.
+
+“It was needful,” said Peter to Castell presently; “you heard—they were
+going to wait for us.”
+
+“I do not think that they will try to murder any more Englishmen at
+that inn,” panted Castell, as he ran along beside him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+INEZ AND HER GARDEN.
+
+
+For two hours or more John Castell and Peter travelled on the Granada
+road, running when it was smooth, walking when it was rough, and
+stopping from time to time to get their breath and listen. But the
+night was quite silent, no one seemed to be pursuing them. Evidently
+the remaining cut-throats had either taken another way or, having their
+fill of this adventure, wanted to see no more of Peter and his sword.
+
+At length the dawn broke over the great misty plain, for now they were
+crossing the vega. Then the sun rose and dispelled the vapours, and a
+dozen miles or more away they saw Granada on its hill. They saw each
+other also, and a sorry sight they were, torn by the sharp thorns, and
+stained with blood from their scratches. Peter was bare-headed too, for
+he had lost his cap, and almost beside himself now that the excitement
+had left him, from lack of sleep, pain, and weariness. Moreover, as the
+sun rose, it grew fearfully hot upon that plain, and its fierce rays,
+striking full upon his head, seemed to stupefy him, so that at last
+they were obliged to halt and weave a kind of hat out of corn and
+grasses, which gave him so strange an appearance that some Moors, whom
+they met going to their toil, thought that he must be a madman, and ran
+away.
+
+Still they crawled forward, refreshing themselves with water whenever
+they could find any in the irrigation ditches that these people used
+for their crops, but covering little more than a mile an hour. Towards
+noon the heat grew so dreadful that they were obliged to lie down to
+rest under the shade of some palm-like trees, and here, absolutely
+outworn, they sank into a kind of sleep.
+
+They were awakened by a sound of voices, and staggered to their feet,
+drawing their swords, for they thought that the thieves from the inn
+had overtaken them. Instead of these ruffianly murderers, however, they
+saw before them a body of eight Moors, beautifully mounted upon white
+horses, and clad in turbans and flowing robes, the like of which Peter
+had never yet beheld, who sat there regarding them gravely with their
+quiet eyes, and, as it seemed, not without pity.
+
+“Put up your swords, Señors,” said the leader of these Moors in
+excellent Spanish—indeed, he seemed to be a Spaniard dressed in Eastern
+garments—“for we are many and fresh; and you are but two and wounded.”
+
+They obeyed, who could do nothing else.
+
+“Now tell us, though there is little need to ask,” went on the captain,
+“you are those men of England who boarded the San Antonio and escaped
+when she was sinking, are you not?”
+
+Castell nodded, then answered:
+
+“We boarded her to seek——”
+
+“Never mind what you sought,” the captain answered; “the names of
+exalted ladies should not be mentioned before strange men. But you have
+been in trouble again since then, at the inn yonder, where this tall
+señor bore himself very bravely. Oh! we have heard all the story, and
+give him honour who can wield a sword so well in the dark.”
+
+“We thank you,” said Castell, “but what is your business with us?”
+
+“Señor, we are sent by our master, his Excellency, the high Lord and
+Marquis of Morella, to find you and bring you to be his guests at
+Granada.”
+
+“So the priest has told. I thought as much,” muttered Peter.
+
+“We pray you to come without trouble, as we do not wish to do any
+violence to such gallant men,” went on the captain. “Be pleased to
+mount two of these horses, and ride with us.”
+
+“I am a merchant, with friends of my own at Granada,” answered Castell.
+“Cannot we go to them, who do not seek the hospitality of the marquis?”
+
+“Señor, our orders are otherwise, and here the word of our master, the
+marquis, is a law that may not be broken.”
+
+“I thought that Boabdil was king of Granada,” said Castell.
+
+“Without doubt he is king, Señor, and by the grace of Allah will remain
+so, but the marquis is allied to him in blood; also, while the truce
+lasts, he is a representative of their Majesties of Spain in our city,”
+and, at a sign, two of the Moors dismounted and led forward their
+horses, holding the stirrups, and offering to help them to the saddle.
+
+“There is nothing for it,” said Peter; “we must go.” So, awkwardly
+enough, for they were very stiff, they climbed on to the beasts and
+rode away with their captors.
+
+The sun was sinking now, for they had slept long, and by the time they
+reached the gates of Granada the muezzins were calling to the sunset
+prayer from the minarets of the mosques.
+
+It was but a very dim and confused idea that Peter gathered of the
+great city of the Moors, as, surrounded by their white-robed escort, he
+rode he knew not whither. Narrow winding streets, white houses,
+shuttered windows, crowds of courteous, somewhat silent people, all
+men, and all clad in those same strange, flowing dresses, who looked at
+them curiously, and murmured words which afterwards he came to learn
+meant “Christian prisoners,” or sometimes “Christian dogs”; fretted and
+pointed arches, and a vast fairy-like building set upon a hill. He was
+dazed with pain and fatigue as, a long-legged, blood-stained figure,
+crowned with his quaint hat of grasses, he rode through that wondrous
+and imperial place.
+
+Yet no man laughed at him, absurd as he must have seemed; but perhaps
+this was because under the grotesqueness of his appearance they
+recognised something of his quality. Or they might have heard rumours
+of his sword-play at the inn and on the ship. At any rate, their
+attitude was that of courteous dislike of the Christian, mingled with
+respect for the brave man in misfortune.
+
+At length, after mounting a long rise, they came to a palace on a
+mount, facing the vast, red-walled fortress which seemed to dominate
+the place, which he afterwards knew as the Alhambra, but separated from
+it by a valley. This palace was a very great building, set on three
+sides of a square, and surrounded by gardens, wherein tall
+cypress-trees pointed to the tender sky. They rode through the gardens
+and sundry gateways till they came to a courtyard where servants, with
+torches in their hands, ran out to meet them. Somebody helped him off
+his horse, somebody supported him up a flight of marble steps, beneath
+which a fountain splashed, into a great, cool room with an ornamented
+roof. Then Peter remembered no more.
+
+A time went by, a long, long time—in fact it was nearly a month—before
+Peter really opened his eyes to the world again. Not that he had been
+insensible for all this while—that is, quite—for at intervals he had
+become aware of that large, cool room, and of people talking about
+him—especially of a dark-eyed, light-footed, and pretty woman with a
+white wimple round her face, who appeared to be in charge of him.
+Occasionally he thought that this must be Margaret, and yet knew that
+it could not, for she was different. Also, he remembered that once or
+twice he had seemed to see the haughty, handsome face of Morella
+bending over him, as though he watched curiously to learn whether he
+would live or not, and then had striven to rise to fight him, and been
+pressed back by the soft, white hands of the woman that yet were so
+terribly strong.
+
+Now, when he awoke at last, it was to see her sitting there with a ray
+of sunlight from some upper window falling on her face, sitting with
+her chin resting on her hand and her elbow on her knee, and
+contemplating him with a pretty, puzzled look. She made a sweet picture
+thus, he thought. Then he spoke to her in his slow Spanish, for somehow
+he knew that she would not understand his own tongue.
+
+“You are not Margaret,” he said.
+
+At once the dream went out of the woman’s soft eyes; she became
+intensely interested, and, rising, advanced towards him, a very
+gracious figure, who seemed to sway as she walked.
+
+“No, no,” she said, bending over him and touching his forehead with her
+taper fingers; “my name is Inez. You wander still, Señor.”
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+“My name is Inez. You wander still, Señor”
+
+“Inez what?” he asked.
+
+“Inez only,” she answered, “Inez, a woman of Granada, the rest is lost.
+Inez, the nurse of sick men, Señor.”
+
+“Where then is Margaret—the English Margaret?”
+
+A veil of secrecy seemed to fall over the woman’s face, and her voice
+changed as she answered, no longer ringing true, or so it struck his
+senses made quick and subtle by the fires of fever:
+
+“I know no English Margaret. Do you then love her—this English
+Margaret?”
+
+“Aye,” he answered, “she was stolen from me; I have followed her from
+far, and suffered much. Is she dead or living?”
+
+“I have told you, Señor, I know nothing, although”—and again the voice
+became natural—“it is true that I thought you loved somebody from your
+talk in your illness.”
+
+Peter pondered a while, then he began to remember, and asked again:
+
+“Where is Castell?”
+
+“Castell? Was he your companion, the man with a hurt arm who looked
+like a Jew? I do not know where he is. In another part of the city,
+perhaps. I think that he was sent to his friends. Question me not of
+such matters, who am but your sick-nurse. You have been very ill,
+Señor. Look!” And she handed him a little mirror made of polished
+silver, then, seeing that he was too weak to take it, held it before
+him.
+
+Peter saw his face, and groaned, for, except the red scar upon his
+cheek, it was ivory white and wasted to nothing.
+
+“I am glad Margaret did not see me like this,” he said, with an attempt
+at a smile, “bearded too, and what a beard! Lady, how could you have
+nursed one so hideous?”
+
+“I have not found you hideous,” she answered softly; “besides, that is
+my trade. But you must not talk, you must rest. Drink this, and rest,”
+and she gave him soup in a silver bowl, which he swallowed readily
+enough, and went to sleep again.
+
+Some days afterwards, when Peter was well on the road to convalescence,
+his beautiful nurse came and sat by him, a look of pity in her tender,
+Eastern eyes.
+
+“What is it now, Inez?” he asked, noting her changed face.
+
+“Señor Pedro, you spoke to me a while ago, when you woke up from your
+long sleep, of a certain Margaret, did you not? Well, I have been
+inquiring of this Dona Margaret, and have no good news to tell of her.”
+
+Peter set his teeth, and said:
+
+“Go on, tell me the worst.”
+
+“This Margaret was travelling with the Marquis of Morella, was she
+not?”
+
+“She had been stolen by him,” answered Peter.
+
+“Alas! it may be so; but here in Spain, and especially here in Granada,
+that will scarcely screen the name of one who has been known to travel
+with the Marquis of Morella.”
+
+“So much the worse for the Marquis of Morella when I meet him again,”
+answered Peter sternly. “What is your story, Nurse Inez?”
+
+She looked with interest at his grim, thin face, but, as it seemed to
+him, with no displeasure.
+
+“A sad one. As I have told you, a sad one. It seems that the other day
+this señora was found dead at the foot of the tallest tower of the
+marquis’s palace, though whether she fell from it, or was thrown from
+it, none know.”
+
+Peter gasped, and was silent for a while; then asked:
+
+“Did you see her dead?”
+
+“No, Señor; others saw her.”
+
+“And told you to tell me? Nurse Inez, I do not believe your tale. If
+the Dona Margaret, my betrothed, were dead I should know it; but my
+heart tells me that she is alive.”
+
+“You have great faith, Señor,” said the woman, with a note of
+admiration in her voice which she could not suppress, but, as he
+observed, without contradicting him.
+
+“I have faith,” he answered. “Nothing else is left; but so far it has
+been a good crutch.”
+
+Peter made no further allusion to the subject, only presently he asked:
+
+“Tell me, where am I?”
+
+“In a prison, Señor.”
+
+“Oh! a prison, with a beautiful woman for jailer, and other beautiful
+women”—and he pointed to a fair creature who had brought something into
+the room—“as servants. A very fine prison also,” and he looked about
+him at the marbles and arches and lovely carving.
+
+“There are men without the gate, not women,” she replied, smiling.
+
+“I daresay; captives can be tied with ropes of silk, can they not?
+Well, whose is this prison?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“I do not know, Señor. The Moorish king’s perhaps—you yourself have
+said that I am only the jailer.”
+
+“Then who pays you?”
+
+“Perhaps I am not paid, Señor; perhaps I work for love,” and she
+glanced at him swiftly, “or hate,” and her face changed.
+
+“Not hate of me, I think,” said Peter.
+
+“No, Señor, not hate of you. Why should I hate you who have been so
+helpless and so courteous to me?” and she bent the knee to him a
+little.
+
+“Why indeed? especially as I am also grateful to you who have nursed me
+back to life. But then, why hide the truth from a helpless man?”
+
+Inez glanced about her; the room was empty now. She bent over him and
+whispered:
+
+“Have you never been forced to hide the truth? No, I read it in your
+face, and you are not a woman—an erring woman.”
+
+They looked into each other’s eyes a while, then Peter asked: “Is the
+Dona Margaret really dead?”
+
+“I do not know,” she answered; “I was told so.” And as though she
+feared lest she should betray herself, Inez turned and left him
+quickly.
+
+The days went by, and through the slow degrees of convalescence Peter
+grew strong again. But they brought him no added knowledge. He did not
+know where he dwelt or why he was there. All he knew was that he lived
+a prisoner in a sumptuous palace, or as he suspected, for of this he
+could not be sure, since the arched windows of one side of the building
+were walled up, in the wing of a palace. Nobody came near to him except
+the fair Inez, and a Moor who either was deaf or could understand
+nothing that he said to him in Spanish. There were other women about,
+it is true, very pretty women all of them, who acted as servants, but
+none of these were allowed to approach him; he only saw them at a
+distance.
+
+Therefore Inez was his sole companion, and with her he grew very
+intimate, to a certain extent, but no further. On the occasion that has
+been described she had lifted a corner of her veil which hid her true
+self, but a long while passed before she enlarged her confidence. The
+veil was kept down very close indeed. Day by day he questioned her, and
+day by day, without the slightest show of irritation, or even
+annoyance, she parried his questions. They knew perfectly well that
+they were matching their wits against each other; but as yet Inez had
+the best of the game, which, indeed, she seemed to enjoy. He would talk
+to her also of all sorts of things—the state of Spain, the Moorish
+court, the danger that threatened Granada, whereof the great siege now
+drew near, and so forth—and of these matters she would discourse most
+intelligently, with the result that he learned much of the state of
+politics in Castile and Granada, and greatly improved his knowledge of
+the Spanish tongue.
+
+But when of a sudden, as he did again and again, he sprang some
+question on her about Morella, or Margaret, or John Castell, that same
+subtle change would come over her face, and the same silence would seal
+her lips.
+
+“Señor,” she said to him one day with a laugh, “you ask me of secrets
+which I might reveal to you—perhaps—if you were my husband or my love,
+but which you cannot expect a nurse, whose life hangs on it, to answer.
+Not that I wish you to become my husband or my lover,” she added, with
+a little nervous laugh.
+
+Peter looked at her with his grave eyes.
+
+“I know that you do not wish that,” he said, “for how could I attract
+one so gay and beautiful as you are?”
+
+“You seem to attract the English Margaret,” she replied quickly in a
+nettled voice.
+
+“To have attracted, you mean, as you tell me that she is dead,” he
+answered; and, seeing her mistake, Inez bit her lip. “But,” he went on,
+“I was going to add, though it may have no value for you, that you have
+attracted me as your true friend.”
+
+“Friend!” she said, opening her large eyes, “what talk is this? Can the
+woman Inez find a friend in a man who is under sixty?”
+
+“It would appear so,” he answered. And again with that graceful little
+curtsey of hers she went away, leaving him very puzzled. Two days later
+she appeared in his room, evidently much disturbed.
+
+“I thought that you had left me altogether, and I am glad to see you,
+for I tire of that deaf Moor and of this fine room. I want fresh air.”
+
+“I know it,” she answered; “so I have come to take you to walk in a
+garden.”
+
+He leapt for joy at her words, and snatching at his sword, which had
+been left to him, buckled it on.
+
+“You will not need that,” she said.
+
+“I thought that I should not need it in yonder inn, but I did,” he
+answered. Whereat she laughed, then turned, put her hand upon his
+shoulder and spoke to him earnestly.
+
+“See, friend,” she whispered, “you want to walk in the fresh air—do you
+not?—and to learn certain things—and I wish to tell you them. But I
+dare not do it here, where we may at any moment be surrounded by spies,
+for these walls have ears indeed. Well, when we walk in that garden,
+would it be too great a penance for you to put your arm about my
+waist—you who still need support?”
+
+“No penance at all, I assure you,” answered Peter with something like a
+smile. For after all he was a man, and young; while the waist of Inez
+was as pretty as all the rest of her. “But,” he added, “it might be
+misunderstood.”
+
+“Quite so, I wish it to be misunderstood: not by me, who know that you
+care nothing for me and would as soon place your arm round that marble
+column.”
+
+Peter opened his lips to speak, but she stopped him at once.
+
+“Oh! do not waste falsehoods on me, in which of a truth you have no
+art,” she said with evident irritation. “Why, if you had the money, you
+would offer to pay me for my nursing, and who knows, I might take it!
+Understand, you must either do this, seeming to play the lover to me,
+or we cannot walk together in that garden.”
+
+Peter hesitated a little, guessing a plot, while she bent forward till
+her lips almost touched his ear and said in a still lower voice:
+
+“And I cannot tell you how, perhaps—I say perhaps—you may come to see
+the remains of the Dona Margaret, and certain other matters. Ah!” she
+added after a pause, with a little bitter laugh, “now you will kiss me
+from one end of the garden to the other, will you not? Foolish man!
+Doubt no more; take your chance, it may be the last.”
+
+“Of what? Kissing you? Or the other things?”
+
+“That you will find out,” she said, with a shrug of her shoulders.
+“Come!”
+
+Then, while he followed dubiously, she led him down the length of the
+great room to a door with a spy-hole in the top of it, that was set in
+a Moorish archway at the corner.
+
+This door she opened, and there beyond it, a drawn scimitar in his
+hand, stood a tall Moor on guard. Inez spoke a word to him, whereon he
+saluted with his scimitar and let them pass across the landing to a
+turret stair that lay beyond, which they descended. At its foot was
+another door, whereon she knocked four times. Bolts shot back, keys
+turned, and it was opened by a black porter, beyond whom stood a second
+Moor, also with drawn sword. They passed him as they had passed the
+first, turned down a little passage to the right, ending in some steps,
+and came to a third door, in front of which she halted.
+
+“Now,” she said, “nerve yourself for the trial.”
+
+“What trial?” he asked, supporting himself against the wall, for he
+found his legs still weak.
+
+“This,” she answered, pointing to her waist, “and these,” and she
+touched her rich, red lips with her taper finger-points. “Would you
+like to practise a little, my innocent English knight, before we go
+out? You look as though you might seem awkward and unconvincing.”
+
+“I think,” answered Peter drily, for the humour of the situation moved
+him, “that such practice is somewhat dangerous for me. It might annoy
+you before I had done. I will postpone my happiness until we are in the
+garden.”
+
+“I thought so,” she answered; “but look now, you must play the part, or
+I shall suffer, who am bearing much for you.”
+
+“I think that I may suffer also,” he murmured, but not so low that she
+did not catch his words.
+
+“No, friend Pedro,” she said, turning on him, “it is the woman who
+suffers in this kind of farce. She pays; the man rides away to play
+another,” and without more ado she opened the door, which proved to be
+unlocked and unguarded.
+
+Beyond the foot of some steps lay a most lovely garden. Great, tapering
+cypresses grew about it, with many orange-trees and flowering shrubs
+that filled the soft, southern air with odours. Also there were marble
+fountains into which water splashed from the mouths of carven lions,
+and here and there arbours with stone seats, whereon were laid soft
+cushions of many colours. It was a veritable place of Eastern delight
+and dreams, such as Peter had never known before he looked upon it on
+that languorous eve—he who had not seen the sky or flowers for so many
+weary weeks of sickness. It was secluded also, being surrounded by a
+high wall, but at one place the tall, windowless tower of some other
+building of red stone soared up between and beyond two lofty
+cypress-trees.
+
+“This is the harem garden,” Inez whispered, “where many a painted
+favourite has flitted for a few happy, summer hours, till winter came
+and the butterfly was broken,” and, as she spoke, she dropped her veil
+over her face and began to descend the stairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+PETER PLAYS A PART.
+
+
+“Stop,” said Peter from the shadow of the doorway, “I fear this
+business, Inez, and I do not understand why it is needful. Why cannot
+you say what you have to say here?”
+
+“Are you mad?” she answered almost fiercely through her veil. “Do you
+think that it can be any pleasure for me to seem to make love to a
+stone shaped like a man, for whom I care nothing at all—except as a
+friend?” she added quickly. “I tell you, Señor Peter, that if you do
+not do as I tell you, you will never hear what I have to say, for I
+shall be held to have failed in my business, and within a few minutes
+shall vanish from you for ever—to my death perhaps; but what does that
+matter to you? Choose now, and quickly, for I cannot stand thus for
+long.”
+
+“I obey you, God forgive me!” said the distraught Peter from the
+darkness of the doorway; “but must I really——?”
+
+“Yes, you must,” she answered with energy, “and some would not think
+that so great a penance.”
+
+Then she lifted the corner of her veil coyly and, peeping out beneath
+it, called in a soft, clear voice, “Oh! forgive me, dear friend, if I
+have run too fast for you, forgetting that you are still so very weak.
+Here, lean upon me; I am frail, but it may serve.” And she passed up
+the steps again, to reappear in another moment with Peter’s hand
+resting on her shoulder.
+
+“Be careful of these steps,” she said, “they are so slippery”—a
+statement to which Peter, whose pale face had grown suddenly red,
+murmured a hearty assent. “Do not be afraid,” she went on in her
+flute-like voice; “this is the secret garden, where none can hear
+words, however sweet, and none can see even a caress, no, not the most
+jealous woman. That is why in old days it was called the Sultana’s
+Chamber, for there at the end of it was where she bathed in the summer
+season. What say you of spies? Oh! yes, in the palace there are many,
+but to look towards this place, even for the Guardian of the Women, was
+always death. Here there are no witnesses, save the flowers and the
+birds.”
+
+As she spoke thus they reached the central path, and passed up it
+slowly, Peter’s hand still upon the shoulder of Inez, and her white arm
+about him, while she looked up into his eyes.
+
+“Bend closer over me,” she whispered, “for truly your face is like that
+of a wooden saint,” and he bent. “Now,” she went on, “listen. Your lady
+lives, and is well—kiss me on the lips, please, that news is worth it.
+If you shut your eyes you can imagine that I am she.”
+
+Again Peter obeyed, and with a better grace than might have been
+expected.
+
+“She is a prisoner in this same palace,” she went on, “and the marquis,
+who is mad for love of her, seeks by all means, fair or foul, to make
+her his wife!”
+
+“Curse him!” exclaimed Peter with another embrace.
+
+“Till a few days ago she thought you dead; but now she knows that you
+are alive and recovering. Her father, Castell, escaped from the place
+where he was put, and is in hiding among his friends, the Jews, where
+even Morella cannot find him; indeed, he believes him fled from the
+city. But he is not fled, and, having much gold, has opened a door
+between himself and his daughter.”
+
+Here she stopped to return the embrace with much warmth. Then they
+passed under some trees, and came to the marble baths where the
+sultanas were supposed to have bathed in summer, for this place had
+been one of the palaces of the Kings of Granada before they lived in
+the Alhambra. Here Inez sat down upon a seat and loosened some garment
+about her throat, for the evening was very hot.
+
+“What are you doing?” Peter asked doubtfully, for he was filled with
+many fears.
+
+“Cooling myself,” she answered; “your arm was warm, and we may sit here
+for a few minutes.”
+
+“Well, go on with your tale,” he said.
+
+“I have little more to say, friend, except that if you wish to send any
+message, I might perhaps be able to take it.”
+
+“You are an angel,” he exclaimed.
+
+“That is another word for messenger, is it not? Continue.”
+
+“Tell her—that if she hears anything of all this business, it isn’t
+true.”
+
+“On that point she may form her own opinion,” replied Inez demurely.
+“If I were in her place I know what mine would be. Don’t waste time; we
+must soon begin to walk again.”
+
+Peter stared at her, for he could understand nothing of all this play.
+Apparently she read his look, for she answered it in a quiet, serious
+voice:
+
+“You are wondering what everything means, and why I am doing what I do.
+I will tell you, Señor, and you can believe me or not as you like.
+Perhaps you think that I am in love with you. It would not be
+wonderful, would it? Besides, in the old tales, that always happens—the
+lady who nurses the Christian knight and worships him and so forth.”
+
+“I don’t think anything of the sort; I am not so vain.”
+
+“I know it, Señor, you are too good a man to be vain. Well, I do all
+these things, not for love of you, or any one, but for hate—for hate.
+Yes, for hate of Morella,” and she clenched her little hand, hissing
+the words out between her teeth.
+
+“I understand the feeling,” said Peter. “But—but what has he done to
+you?”
+
+“Do not ask me, Señor. Enough that once I loved him—that accursed
+priest Henriques sold me into his power—oh! a long while ago, and he
+ruined me, making me what I am, and—I bore his child, and—and it is
+dead. Oh! Mother of God, my boy is dead, and since then I have been an
+outcast and his slave—they have slaves here in Granada, Señor—
+dependent on him for my bread, forced to do his bidding, forced to wait
+upon his other loves; I, who once was the sultana; I, of whom he has
+wearied. Only to-day—but why should I tell you of it? Well, he has
+driven me even to this, that I must kiss an unwilling stranger in a
+garden,” and she sobbed aloud.
+
+“Poor girl!—poor girl!” said Peter, patting her hand kindly with his
+thin fingers. “Henceforth I have another score against Morella, and I
+will pay it too.”
+
+“Will you?” she asked quickly. “Ah! if so, I would die for you, who now
+live only to be revenged upon him. And it shall be my first vengeance
+to rob him of that noble-looking mistress of yours, whom he has stolen
+away and has set his heart upon wholly, because she is the first woman
+who ever resisted him—him, who thinks that he is invincible.”
+
+“Have you any plan?” asked Peter.
+
+“As yet, none. The thing is very difficult. I go in danger of my life,
+for if he thought that I betrayed him he would kill me like a rat, and
+think no harm of it. Such things can be done in Granada without sin,
+Señor, and no questions asked—at least if the victim be a woman of the
+murderer’s household. I have told you already that if I had refused to
+do what I have done this evening I should certainly have been got rid
+of in this way or that, and another set on at the work. No, I have no
+plan yet, only it is I through whom the Señor Castell communicates with
+his daughter, and I will see him again, and see her, and we will make
+some plan. No, do not thank me. He pays me for my services, and I am
+glad to take his money, who hope to escape from this hell and live on
+it elsewhere. Yet, not for all the money in the world would I risk what
+I am risking, though in truth it matters not to me whether I live or
+die. Señor, I will not disguise it from you, all this scene will come
+to the Dona Margaret’s ears, but I will explain it to her.”
+
+“I pray you, do,” said Peter earnestly—“explain it fully.”
+
+“I will—I will. I will work for you and her and her father, and if I
+cease to work, know that I am dead or in a dungeon, and fend for
+yourselves as best you may. One thing I can tell you for your
+comfort—no harm has been done to this lady of yours. Morella loves her
+too well for that. He wishes to make her his wife. Or perhaps he has
+sworn some oath, as I know that he has sworn that he will not murder
+you—which he might have done a score of times while you have lain a
+prisoner in his power. Why, once when you were senseless he came and
+stood over you, a dagger in his hand, and reasoned out the case with
+me. I said, ‘Why do you not kill him?’ knowing that thus I could best
+help to save your life. He answered, ‘Because I will not take my wife
+with her lover’s blood upon my hands, unless I slay him in fair fight.
+I swore it yonder in London. It was the offering which I made to God
+and to my patron saint that so I might win her fairly, and if I break
+that oath, God will be avenged upon me here and hereafter. Do my
+bidding, Inez. Nurse him well, so that if he dies, he dies without sin
+of mine,’ No, he will not murder you or harm her. Friend Pedro, he dare
+not.”
+
+“Can you think of nothing?” asked Peter.
+
+“Nothing—as yet nothing. These walls are high, guards watch them day
+and night, and outside is the great city of Granada where Morella has
+much power, and whence no Christian may escape. But he would marry her.
+And there is that handsome fool-woman, her servant, who is in love with
+him—oh! she told me all about it in the worst Spanish I ever heard, but
+the story is too long to repeat; and the priest, Father Henriques—he
+who wished that you might be killed at the inn, and who loves money so
+much. Ah! now I think I see some light. But we have no more time to
+talk, and I must have time to think. Friend Pedro, make ready your
+kisses, we must go on with our game, and, in truth, you play but badly.
+Come now, your arm. There is a seat prepared for us yonder. Smile and
+look loving. I have not art enough for both. Come!—come!” And together
+they walked out of the dense shadow of the trees and past the marble
+bath of the sultanas to a certain seat beneath a bower on which were
+cushions, and lying among them a lute.
+
+“Seat yourself at my feet,” she said, as she sank on to the bench. “Can
+you sing?”
+
+“No more than a crow,” he answered.
+
+“Then I must sing to you. Well, it will be better than the
+love-making.” Then in a very sweet voice she began to warble amorous
+Moorish ditties that she accompanied upon the lute, whilst Peter, who
+was weary in body and disturbed in mind, played a lover’s part to the
+best of his ability, and by degrees the darkness gathered.
+
+At length, when they could no longer see across the garden, Inez ceased
+singing and rose with a sigh.
+
+“The play is finished and the curtain down,” she said; “also it is time
+that you went in out of this damp. Señor Pedro, you are a very bad
+actor; but let us pray that the audience was compassionate, and took
+the will for the deed.”
+
+“I did not see any audience,” answered Peter.
+
+“But it saw you, as I dare say you will find out by-and-by. Follow me
+now back to your room, for I must be going about your business—and my
+own. Have you any message for the Señor Castell?”
+
+“None, save my love and duty. Tell him that, thanks to you, although
+still somewhat feeble, I am recovered of my hurt upon the ship and the
+fever which I took from the sun, and that if he can make any plan to
+get us all out of this accursed city and the grip of Morella I will
+bless his name and yours.”
+
+“Good, I will not forget. Now be silent. Tomorrow we will walk here
+again; but be not afraid, then there will be no more need for
+love-making.”
+
+Margaret sat by the open window-place of her beautiful chamber in
+Morella’s palace. She was splendidly arrayed in a rich, Spanish dress,
+whereof the collar was stiff with pearls, she who must wear what it
+pleased her captor to give her. Her long tresses, fastened with a
+jewelled band, flowed down about her shoulders, and, her hand resting
+on her knee, from her high tower prison she gazed out across the valley
+at the dim and mighty mass of the Alhambra and the ten thousand lights
+of Granada which sparkled far below. Near to her, seated beneath a
+silver hanging-lamp, and also clad in rich array, was Betty.
+
+“What is it, Cousin?” asked the girl, looking at her anxiously. “At
+least you should be happier than you were, for now you know that Peter
+is not dead, but almost recovered from his sickness and in this very
+palace; also, that your father is well and hidden away, plotting for
+our escape. Why, then, are you so sad, who should be more joyful than
+you were?”
+
+“Would you learn, Betty? Then I will tell you. I am betrayed. Peter
+Brome, the man whom I looked upon almost as my husband, is false to
+me.”
+
+“Master Peter false!” exclaimed Betty, staring at her open-mouthed.
+“No, it is not possible. I know him; he could not be, who will not even
+look at another woman, if that is what you mean.”
+
+“You say so. Then, Betty, listen and judge. You remember this
+afternoon, when the marquis took us to see the wonders of this palace,
+and I went thinking that perhaps I might find some path by which
+afterwards we could escape?”
+
+“Of course I remember, Margaret. We do not leave this cage so often
+that I am likely to forget.”
+
+“Then you will remember also that high-walled garden in which we
+walked, where the great tower is, and how the marquis and that hateful
+priest Father Henriques and I went up the tower to study the prospect
+from its roof, I thinking that you were following me.”
+
+“The waiting-women would not let me,” said Betty. “So soon as you had
+passed in they shut the door and told me to bide where I was till you
+returned. I went near to pulling the hair out of the head of one of
+them over it, since I was afraid for you alone with those two men. But
+she drew her knife, the cat, and I had none.”
+
+“You must be careful, Betty,” said Margaret, “lest some of these
+heathen folk should do you a mischief.”
+
+“Not they,” she answered; “they are afraid of me. Why, the other day I
+bundled one of them, whom I found listening at the door, head first
+down the stairs. She complained to the marquis, but he only laughed at
+her, and now she lies abed with a plaster on her nose. But tell me your
+tale.”
+
+“We climbed the tower,” said Margaret, “and from its topmost room
+looked out through the windows that face south at all the mountains and
+the plain over which they dragged us from Motril. Presently the priest,
+who had gone to the north wall, in which there are no windows, and
+entered some recess there, came out with an evil smile upon his face,
+and whispered something to the marquis, who turned to me and said:
+
+“‘The father tells me of an even prettier scene which we can view
+yonder. Come, Señora, and look.’
+
+“So I went, who wished to learn all that I could of the building. They
+led me into a little chamber cut in the thickness of the stone-work, in
+the wall of which are slits like loop-holes for the shooting of arrows,
+wide within, but very narrow without, so that I think they cannot be
+seen from below, hidden as they are between the rough stones of the
+tower.
+
+“‘This is the place,’ said the marquis, ‘where in the old days the
+kings of Granada, who were always jealous, used to sit to watch their
+women in the secret garden. It is told that thus one of them discovered
+his sultana making love to an astrologer, and drowned them both in the
+marble bath at the end of the garden. Look now, beneath us walk a
+couple who do not guess that we are the witnesses of their vows.’
+
+“So I looked idly enough to pass the time, and there I saw a tall man
+in a Moorish dress, and with him, for their arms were about each other,
+a woman. As I was turning my head away who did not wish to spy upon
+them thus, the woman lifted her face to kiss the man, and I knew her
+for that beautiful Inez who has visited us here at times, as a spy I
+think. Presently, too, the man, after paying her back her embrace,
+glanced about him guiltily, and I saw his face also, and knew it.”
+
+“Who was it?” asked Betty, for this gossip of lovers interested her.
+
+“Peter Brome, no other,” Margaret answered calmly, but with a note of
+despair in her voice. “Peter Brome, pale with recent sickness, but no
+other man.”
+
+“The saints save us! I did not think he had it in him!” gasped Betty
+with astonishment.
+
+“They would not let me go,” went on Margaret; “they forced me to see it
+all. The pair tarried for a while beneath some trees by the bath and
+were hidden there. Then they came out again and sat them down upon a
+marble seat, while the woman sang songs and the man leaned against her
+lovingly. So it went on until the darkness fell, and we went, leaving
+them there. Now,” she added, with a little sob, “what say you?”
+
+“I say,” answered Betty, “that it was not Master Peter, who has no
+liking for strange ladies and secret gardens.”
+
+“It was he, and no other man, Betty.”
+
+“Then, Cousin, he was drugged or drunk or bewitched, not the Peter whom
+we know.”
+
+“Bewitched, perchance, by that bad woman, which is no excuse for him.”
+
+Betty thought a while. She could not doubt the evidence, but from her
+face it was clear that she took no severe view of the offence.
+
+“Well, at the worst,” she said, “men, as I have known them, are men. He
+has been shut up for a long while with that minx, who is very fair and
+witching, and it was scarcely right to watch him through a slit in a
+tower. If he were my lover, I should say nothing about it.”
+
+“I will say nothing to him about that or any other matter,” replied
+Margaret sternly. “I have done with Peter Brome.”
+
+Again Betty thought, and spoke.
+
+“I seem to see a trick. Cousin Margaret, they told you he was dead, did
+they not? And then that news came to us that he was not dead, only
+sick, and here. So the lie failed. Now they tell you, and seem to show
+you, that he is faithless. May not all this have been some part played
+for a purpose by the woman?”
+
+“It takes two to play such parts, Betty. If you had seen——”
+
+“If I had seen, I should have known whether it was but a part or love
+made in good earnest; but you are too innocent to judge. What said the
+marquis all this while, and the priest?”
+
+“Little or nothing, only smiled at each other, and at length, when it
+grew dark and we could see no more, asked me if I did not think that it
+was time to go—me! whom they had kept there all that while to be the
+witness of my own shame.”
+
+“Yes, they kept you there—did they not?—and brought you there just at
+the right time—did they not?—and shut me out of the tower so that I
+might not be with you—oh! and all the rest. Now, if you have any
+justice in you, Cousin, you will hear Peter’s side of this story before
+you judge him.”
+
+“I have judged him,” answered Margaret coldly, “and, oh! I wish that I
+were dead.”
+
+Margaret rose from her seat and, stepping to the window-place in the
+tower which was built upon the edge of a hill, searched the giddy depth
+beneath with her eyes, where, two hundred feet below, the white line of
+a roadway showed faintly in the moonlight.
+
+“It would be easy, would it not,” she said, with a strained laugh,
+“just to lean out a little too far upon this stone, and then one swift
+rush and darkness—or light—for ever—which, I wonder?”
+
+“Light, I think,” said Betty, jerking her back from the window—“the
+light of hell fire, and plenty of it, for that would be self-murder,
+nothing else, and besides, what would one look like on that road?
+Cousin, don’t be a fool. If you are right, it isn’t you who ought to go
+out of that window; and if you are wrong, then you would only make a
+bad business worse. Time enough to die when one must, say I—which,
+perhaps, will be soon enough. Meanwhile, if I were you, I would try to
+speak to Master Peter first, if only to let him know what I thought of
+him.”
+
+“Mayhap,” answered Margaret, sinking back into a chair, “but I
+suffer—how can you know what I suffer?”
+
+“Why should I not know?” asked Betty. “Are you the only woman in the
+world who has been fool enough to fall in love? Can I not be as much in
+love as you are? You smile, and think to yourself that the poor
+relation, Betty, cannot feel like her rich cousin. But I do—I do. I
+know that he is a villain, but I love this marquis as much as you hate
+him, or as much as you love Peter, because I can’t help myself; it is
+my luck, that’s all. But I am not going to throw myself out of a
+window; I would rather throw him out and square our reckoning, and that
+I swear I’ll do, in this way or the other, even if it should cost me
+what I don’t want to lose—my life.” And Betty drew herself up beneath
+the silver lamp with a look upon her handsome, determined face, which
+was so like Margaret’s and yet so different, that, could he have seen
+it, might well have made Morella regret that he had chosen this woman
+for a tool.
+
+While Margaret studied her wonderingly she heard a sound, and glanced
+up to see, standing before them, none other than the beautiful
+Spaniard, or Moor, for she knew not which she was, Inez, that same
+woman whom, from her hiding-place in the tower, she had watched with
+Peter in the garden.
+
+“How did you come here?” she asked coldly.
+
+“Through the door, Señora, that was left unlocked, which is not wise of
+those who wish to talk privately in such a place as this,” she answered
+with a humble curtsey.
+
+“The door is still unlocked,” said Margaret, pointing towards it.
+
+“Nay, Señora, you are mistaken; here is its key in my hand. I pray you
+do not tell your lady to put me out, which, being so strong, she well
+can do, for I have words to say to you, and if you are wise you will
+listen to them.”
+
+Margaret thought a moment, then answered:
+
+“Say on, and be brief.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+BETTY SHOWS HER TEETH.
+
+
+“Señora,” said Inez, “you think that you have something against me.”
+
+“No,” answered Margaret, “you are—what you are; why should I blame
+you?”
+
+“Well, against the Señor Brome then?”
+
+“Perhaps, but that is between me and him. I will not discuss it with
+you.”
+
+“Señora,” went on Inez, with a slow smile, “we are both innocent of
+what you thought you saw.”
+
+“Indeed; then who is guilty?”
+
+“The Marquis of Morella.”
+
+Margaret made no answer, but her eyes said much.
+
+“Señora, you do not believe me, nor is it wonderful. Yet I speak the
+truth. What you saw from the tower was a play in which the Señor Brome
+took his part badly enough, as you may have noticed, because I told him
+that my life hung on it. I have nursed him through a sore sickness,
+Señora, and he is not ungrateful.”
+
+“So I judged; but I do not understand you.”
+
+“Señora, I am a slave in this house, a discarded slave. Perhaps you can
+guess the rest, it is a common story here. I was offered my freedom at
+a price, that I should weave myself into this man’s heart, I who am
+held fair, and make him my lover. If I failed, then perhaps I should be
+sold as a slave—perhaps worse. I accepted—why should I not? It was a
+small thing to me. On the one hand, life, freedom, and wealth, an
+hidalgo of good blood and a gallant friend for a little while, and, on
+the other, the last shame or blackness which doubtless await me now—if
+I am found out. Señora, I failed, who in truth did not try hard to
+succeed. The man looked on me as his nurse, no more, and to me he was
+one very sick, no more. Also, we grew to be true friends, and in this
+way or in that I learned all his story, learned also why the trap was
+baited thus—that you might be deceived and fall into a deeper trap.
+Señora, I could not explain it all to him, indeed, in that chamber
+where we were spied on, I had but little chance. Still, it was
+necessary that he should seem to be what he is not, so I took him into
+the garden and, knowing well who watched us, made him act his part,
+well enough to deceive you it would seem.”
+
+“Still I do not understand,” said Margaret more softly. “You say that
+your life or welfare hung on this shameful business. Then why do you
+reveal it to me now?”
+
+“To save you from yourself, Señora, to save my friend the Señor Brome,
+and to pay back Morella in his own coin.”
+
+“How will you do these things?”
+
+“The first two are done, I think, but the third is difficult. It is of
+that I come to speak with you, at great risk. Indeed, had not my master
+been summoned to the court of the Moorish king I could not have come,
+and he may return at any time.”
+
+“Have you some plan?” asked Margaret, leaning towards her eagerly.
+
+“No plan as yet, only an idea.” She turned and looked at Betty, adding,
+
+“This lady is your cousin, is she not, though of a different station,
+and somewhat far away?”
+
+Margaret nodded.
+
+“You are not unlike,” went on Inez, “of much the same height and shape,
+although the Señora Betty is stronger built, and her eyes are blue and
+her hair golden, whereas your eyes are black and your hair chestnut.
+Beneath a veil, or at night, it would not be easy to tell you apart if
+your hands were gloved and neither of you spoke above a whisper.”
+
+“Yes,” said Margaret, “what then?”
+
+“Now the Señora Betty comes into the play,” replied Inez. “Señora
+Betty, have you understood our talk?”
+
+“Something, not quite all,” answered Betty.
+
+“Then what you do not understand your lady must interpret, and be not
+angry with me, I pray you, if I seem to know more of you and your
+affairs than you have ever told me. Render my words now, Dona
+Margaret.”
+
+Then, after this was done, and she had thought awhile, Inez continued
+slowly, Margaret translating from Spanish into English whenever Betty
+could not understand:
+
+“Morella made love to you in England, Señora Betty—did he not?—and won
+your heart as he has won that of many another woman, so that you came
+to believe that he was carrying you off to marry you, and not your
+cousin?”
+
+“What affair is that of yours, woman?” asked Betty, flushing angrily.
+
+“None at all, save that I could tell much such another story, if you
+cared to listen. But hear me out, and then answer me a question, or
+rather, answer the question first. Would you like to be avenged upon
+this high-born knave?”
+
+“Avenged?” answered Betty, clenching her hands and hissing the words
+through her firm, white teeth. “I would risk my life for it.”
+
+“As I do. It seems that we are of one mind there. Then I think that
+perhaps I can show you a way. Look now, your cousin has seen certain
+things which women placed as she is do not like to see. She is jealous,
+she is angry—or was until I told her the truth. Well, to-night or
+to-morrow, Morella will come to her and say, ‘Are you satisfied? Do you
+still refuse me in favour of a man who yields his heart to the first
+light-of-love who tempts him? Will you not be my wife?’ What if she
+answer, ‘Yes, I will.’ Nay, be silent both of you, and hear me out.
+What if then there should be a secret marriage, and the Señora Betty
+should chance to wear the bride’s veil, while the Dona Margaret, in the
+robe of Betty, was let go with the Señor Brome and her father?”
+
+Inez paused, watching them both, and playing with the fan she held,
+while, the rendering of her words finished, Margaret and Betty stared
+at her and at each other, for the audacity and fearfulness of this plot
+took their breath away. It was Margaret who spoke the first.
+
+“You must not do it, Betty,” she said. “Why, when the man found you
+out, he would kill you.” But Betty took no heed of her, and thought on.
+At length she looked up and answered:
+
+“Cousin, it was my vain folly that brought you all into this trouble,
+therefore I owe something to you, do I not? I am not afraid of the
+man—he is afraid of me; and if it came to killing—why, let Inez lend me
+that knife of hers, and I think that perhaps I should give the first
+blow. And—well, I think I love him, rascal though he is, and,
+afterwards, perhaps we might make it up, who can say?—while, if not——
+But tell me, you, Inez, should I be his legal wife according to the law
+of this land?”
+
+“Assuredly,” answered Inez, “if a priest married you and he placed the
+ring upon your hand and named you wife. Then, when once the words of
+blessing have been said, the Pope alone can loose that knot, which may
+be risked, for there would be much to explain, and is this a tale that
+Morella, a good servant of the Church, would care to take to Rome?”
+
+“It would be a trick,” broke in Margaret—“a very ugly trick.”
+
+“And what was it he played on me and you?” asked Betty. “Nay, I’ll
+chance it, and his rage, if only I can be sure that you and Peter will
+go free, and your father with you.”
+
+“But what of this Inez?” asked Margaret, bewildered.
+
+“She will look after herself,” answered Inez. “Perchance, if all goes
+well, you will let me ride with you. And now I dare stop no longer, I
+go to see your father, the Señor Castell, and if anything can be
+arranged, we will talk again. Meanwhile, Dona Margaret, your affianced
+is nearly well again at last and sends his heart’s love to you, and, I
+counsel you, when Morella speaks turn a gentle ear to him.”
+
+Then with another deep curtsey she glided to the door, unlocked it, and
+left the room.
+
+An hour later Inez was being led by an old Jew, dressed in a Moslem
+robe and turban, through one of the most tortuous and crowded parts of
+Granada. It would seem that this Jew was known there, for his
+appearance, accompanied by a veiled woman, apparently caused no
+surprise to those followers of the Prophet that he met, some of whom,
+indeed, saluted him with humility.
+
+“These children of Mahomet seem to love you, Father Israel,” said Inez.
+
+“Yes, yes, my dear,” answered the old fellow with a chuckle; “they owe
+me money, that is why, and I am getting it in before the great war
+comes with the Spaniards, so they would sweep the streets for me with
+their beards—all of which is very good for the plans of our friend
+yonder. Ah! he who has crowns in his pocket can put a crown upon his
+head; there is nothing that money will not do in Granada. Give me
+enough of it, and I will buy his sultana from the king.”
+
+“This Castell has plenty?” asked Inez shortly.
+
+“Plenty, and more credit. He is one of the richest men in England. But
+why do you ask? He would not think of you, who is too troubled about
+other things.”
+
+Inez only laughed bitterly, but did not resent the words. Why should
+she? It was not worth while.
+
+“I know,” she answered, “but I mean to earn some of it all the same,
+and I want to be sure that there is enough for all of us.”
+
+“There is enough, I have told you there is enough and to spare,”
+answered the Hebrew Israel as he tapped on a door in a dirty-looking
+wall.
+
+It opened as though by magic, and they crossed a paved patio, or
+courtyard, to a house beyond, a tumble-down place of Moorish
+architecture.
+
+“Our friend Castell, being in seclusion just now, has hired the cellar
+floor,” said Israel with a chuckle to Inez, “so be pleased to follow
+me, and take care of the rats and beetles.”
+
+Then he led her down a rickety stair which opened out of the courtyard
+into vaults filled with vats of wine, and, having lit a taper, through
+these, shutting and locking sundry doors behind him, to what appeared
+to be a very damp wall covered with cobwebs, and situated in a dark
+corner of a wine-cave. Here he stopped and tapped again in his peculiar
+fashion, whereon a portion of the wall turned outwards on a pivot,
+leaving an opening through which they could pass.
+
+“Well managed, isn’t it?” chuckled Israel. “Who would think of looking
+for an entrance here, especially if he owed the old Jew money? Come in,
+my pretty, come in.”
+
+Inez followed him into this darksome hole, and the wall closed behind
+them. Then, taking her by the arm, he turned first to the right, next
+to the left, opened a door with a key which he carried, and, behold,
+they stood in a beautifully furnished room well lighted with lamps, for
+it seemed to have no windows. “Wait here,” he said to Inez, pointing to
+a couch on which she sat herself down, “while I fetch my lodger,” and
+he vanished through some curtains at the end of the room.
+
+Presently these opened again, and Israel reappeared through them with
+Castell, dressed now in Moorish robes, and looking somewhat pale from
+his confinement underground, but otherwise well enough. Inez rose and
+stood before him, throwing back her veil that he might see her face.
+Castell searched her for a while with his keen eyes that noted
+everything, then said:
+
+“You are the lady with whom I have been in communication through our
+friend here, are you not? Prove it to me now by repeating my messages.”
+
+Inez obeyed, telling him everything.
+
+“That is right,” he said, “but how do I know that I can trust you? I
+understand you are, or have been, the lover of this man Morella, and
+such an one he might well employ as a spy to bring us all to ruin.”
+
+“Is it not too late to ask such questions, Señor? If I am not to be
+trusted, already you and your people are in the hollow of my hand?”
+
+“Not at all, not at all, my dear,” said Israel. “If we see the
+slightest cause to doubt you, why, there are many great vats in this
+place, one of which, at a pinch, would serve you as a coffin, though it
+would be a pity to spoil the good wine.”
+
+Inez laughed as she answered:
+
+“Save your wine, and your time too. Morella has cast me off, and I hate
+him, and wish to escape from him and rob him of his prize. Also, I
+desire money to live on afterwards, and this you must give to me or I
+do not stir, or rather the promise of it, for you Jews keep your word,
+and I do not ask a maravedi from you until I have played my part.”
+
+“And then how many maravedis do you ask, young woman?”
+
+Inez named a sum, at the mention of which both of them opened their
+eyes, and old Israel exclaimed drily:
+
+“Surely—surely you must be one of us.”
+
+“No,” she answered, “but I try to follow your example, and, if I am to
+live at all, it shall be in comfort.”
+
+“Quite so,” said Castell, “we understand. But now tell us, what do you
+propose to do for this money?”
+
+“I propose to set you, your daughter, the Dona Margaret, and her lover,
+the Señor Brome, safe and free outside the walls of Granada, and to
+leave the Marquis of Morella married to another woman.”
+
+“What other woman? Yourself?” asked Castell, fixing on this last point
+in the programme.
+
+“No, Señor, not for all the wealth of both of you. To your dependent
+and your daughter’s relative, the handsome Betty.”
+
+“How will you manage that?” exclaimed Castell, amazed.
+
+“These cousins are not unlike, Señor, although the link of blood
+between them is so thin. Listen now, I will tell you.” And she
+explained the outlines of her plan.
+
+“A bold scheme enough,” said Castell, when she had finished, “but even
+if it can be done, would that marriage hold?”
+
+“I think so,” answered Inez, “if the priest knew—and he could be
+bribed—and the bride knows. But if not, what would it matter, since
+Rome alone can decide the question, and long before that is done the
+fates of all of us will be settled.”
+
+“Rome—or death,” said Castell; and Inez read what he was afraid of in
+his eyes.
+
+“Your Betty takes her chance,” she replied slowly, “as many a one has
+done before her with less cause. She is a woman with a mind as strong
+as her body. Morella made her love him and promised to marry her. Then
+he used her to steal your daughter, and she learned that she had been
+no more than a stalking-heifer, from behind which he would net the
+white swan. Do you not think, therefore, that she has something to pay
+him back, she through whom her beloved mistress and cousin has been
+brought into all this trouble? If she wins, she becomes the wife of a
+grandee of Spain, a marchioness; and if she loses, well, she has had
+her fling for a high stake, and perhaps her revenge. At least she is
+willing to take her chance, and, meanwhile, all of you can be gone.”
+
+Castell looked doubtfully at the Jew Israel, who stroked his white
+beard and said:
+
+“Let the woman set out her scheme. At any rate she is no fool, and it
+is worth our hearing, though I fear that at the best it must be
+costly.”
+
+“I can pay,” said Castell, and motioned to Inez to proceed.
+
+As yet, however, she had not much more to say, save that they must have
+good horses at hand, and send a messenger to Seville, whither the
+Margaret had been ordered to proceed, bidding her captain hold his ship
+ready to sail at any hour, should they succeed in reaching him.
+
+These things, then, they arranged, and a while later Inez and Israel
+departed, the former carrying with her a bag of gold.
+
+That same night Inez sought the priest, Henriques of Motril, in that
+hall of Morella’s palace which was used as a private chapel, saying
+that she desired to speak with him under pretence of making confession,
+for they were old friends—or rather enemies.
+
+As it chanced she found the holy father in a very ill humour. It
+appeared that Morella also was in a bad humour with Henriques, having
+heard that it was he who had possessed himself of the jewels in his
+strong-box on the San Antonio. Now he insisted upon his surrendering
+everything, and swore, moreover, that he would hold him responsible for
+all that his people had stolen from the ship, and this because he said
+that it was his fault that Peter Brome had escaped the sea and come on
+to Granada.
+
+“So, Father,” said Inez, “you, who thought yourself rich, are poor
+again.”
+
+“Yes, my daughter, and that is what chances to those who put their
+faith in princes. I have served this marquis well for many years—to my
+soul’s hurt, I fear me—hoping that he who stands so high in the favour
+of the Church would advance me to some great preferment. But instead,
+what does he do? He robs me of a few trinkets that, had I not found
+them, the sea would have swallowed or some thief would have taken, and
+declares me his debtor for the rest, of which I know nothing.”
+
+“What preferment did you want, Father? I see that you have one in your
+mind.”
+
+“Daughter, a friend had written to me from Seville that if I have a
+hundred gold doubloons to pay for it, he can secure me the place of a
+secretary in the Holy Office where I served before as a familiar until
+the marquis made me his chaplain, and gave the benefice of Motril,
+which proved worth nothing, and many promises that are worth less. Now
+those trinkets would fetch thirty, and I have saved twenty, and came
+here to borrow the other fifty from the marquis, to whom I have done so
+many good turns—as you know well, Inez. You see the end of that quest,”
+and he groaned angrily.
+
+“It is a pity,” said Inez thoughtfully, “since those who serve the
+Inquisition save many souls, do they not, including their own? For
+instance,” she added, and the priest winced at the words, “I remember
+that they saved the soul of my own sister and would have saved mine,
+had I been—what shall I say?—more—more prejudiced. Also, they get a
+percentage of the goods of wicked heretics, and so become rich and able
+to advance themselves.”
+
+“That is so, Inez. It was the chance of a lifetime, especially to one
+who, like myself, hates heretics. But why speak of it now when that
+cursed, dissolute marquis——” and he checked himself.
+
+Inez looked at him.
+
+“Father,” she asked, “if I happen to be able to find you those hundred
+gold doubloons, would you do something for me?”
+
+The priest’s foxy face lit up.
+
+“I wonder what there is that I would not do, my daughter!”
+
+“Even if it brought you into a quarrel with the marquis?
+
+“Once I was a secretary to the Inquisition of Seville, he would have
+more reason to fear me than I him. Aye, and fear me he should, who bear
+him no love,” answered the priest with a snarl.
+
+“Then listen, Father. I have not made my confession yet; I have not
+told you, for instance, that I also hate this marquis, and with good
+cause—though perhaps you know that already. But remember that if you
+betray me, you will never see those hundred gold doubloons, and some
+other holy priest will be appointed secretary at Seville. Also worse
+things may happen to you.”
+
+“Proceed, my daughter,” he said unctuously; “are we not in the
+confessional—or near it?”
+
+So she told him all the plot, trusting to the man’s avarice and other
+matters to protect her, for Inez hated Fray Henriques bitterly, and
+knew him from the crown of his shaven head to the soles of his erring
+feet, as she had good cause to do. Only she did not tell him whence the
+money was to come.
+
+“That does not seem a very difficult matter,” he said, when she had
+finished. “If a man and a woman, unwed and outside the prohibited
+degrees, appear before me to be married, I marry them, and once the
+ring has passed and the office is said, married they are till death or
+the Pope part them.”
+
+“And suppose that the man thinks he is marrying another woman, Father?”
+
+The priest shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“He should know whom he is marrying; that is his affair, not the
+Church’s or mine. The names need not be spoken too loudly, my
+daughter.”
+
+“But you would give me a writing of the marriage with them set out
+plain?”
+
+“Certainly. To you or to anybody else; why should I not?—that is, if I
+were sure of this wedding fee.”
+
+Inez lifted her hand, and showed beneath it a little pile of ten
+doubloons.
+
+“Take them, Father,” she said; “they will not be counted in the
+contract. There are others where they came from, whereof twenty will be
+paid before the marriage, and eighty when I have that writing at
+Seville.”
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+“There are others where they came from”
+
+He swept up the coins and pocketed them, saying:
+
+“I will trust you, Inez.”
+
+“Yes,” she answered as she left him, “we must trust each other now—must
+we not?—seeing that you have the money, and both our necks are in the
+same noose. Be here, Father, to-morrow at the same time, in case I have
+more confessions to make, for, alas! this is a sinful world, as you
+should know very well.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+THE PLOT.
+
+
+On the morning following these conversations, just after Margaret and
+Betty had breakfasted, Inez appeared, and, as before, locked the door
+behind her.
+
+“Señoras,” she said calmly, “I have arranged that little business of
+which I spoke to you yesterday, or at least the first act of the play,
+since it remains for you to write the rest. Now I am sent to say that
+the noble Marquis of Morella craves leave to see you, Dona Margaret,
+and within an hour. So there is no time to lose.”
+
+“Tell us what you have done, Inez?” said Margaret.
+
+“I have seen your worshipful father, Dona Margaret; here is the token
+of it, which you will do well to destroy when you have read.” And she
+handed her a slip of paper, whereon was written in her father’s
+writing, and in English:
+
+“BELOVED DAUGHTER,
+
+ “This messenger, who I think may be trusted by you, has made
+arrangements with me which she will explain. I approve, though the risk
+is great. Your cousin is a brave girl, but, understand, I do not force
+her to this dangerous enterprise. She must choose her own road, only I
+promise that if she escapes and we live I will not forget her deed. The
+messenger will bring me your answer. God be with us all, and farewell.
+
+“J.C.”
+
+Margaret read this letter first to herself and then aloud to Betty,
+and, having read, tore it into tiny fragments and threw them from the
+turret window.
+
+“Speak now,” she said; and Inez told her everything.
+
+“Can you trust the priest?” asked Margaret, when she had finished.
+
+“He is a great villain, as I have reason to know; still, I think I
+can,” she answered, “while the cabbage is in front of the donkey’s
+nose—I mean until he has got all the money. Also, he has committed
+himself by taking some on account. But before we go further, the
+question is—does this lady play?” and she pointed to Betty.
+
+“Yes, I play,” said Betty, when she understood everything. “I won’t go
+back upon my word; there is too much at stake. It is an ugly business
+for me, I know well enough, but,” she added slowly, setting her firm
+mouth, “I have debts to pay all round, and I am no Spanish putty to be
+squeezed flat—like some people,” and she glanced at the humble-looking
+Inez. “So, before all is done, it may be uglier for him.”
+
+When she had mastered the meaning of this speech the soft-voiced Inez
+lifted her gentle eyes in admiration, and murmured a Spanish proverb as
+to what is supposed to occur when Satan encounters Beelzebub in a
+high-walled lane. Then, being a lady of resource and experience, the
+plot having been finally decided upon, not altogether with Margaret’s
+approval, who feared for Betty’s fate when it should be discovered,
+Inez began to instruct them both in various practical expedients, by
+means of which the undoubted general resemblance of these cousins might
+be heightened and their differences toned down. To this end she
+promised to furnish them with certain hair-washes, pigments, and
+articles of apparel.
+
+“It is of small use,” said Betty, glancing first at herself and then at
+the lovely Margaret, “for even if they change skins, who can make the
+calf look like the fawn, though they chance to feed in the same meadow?
+Still, bring your stuffs and I will do my best; but I think that a
+thick veil and a shut mouth will help me more than any of them, also a
+long gown to hide my feet.”
+
+“Surely they are charming feet,” said Inez politely, adding to herself,
+“to carry you whither you wish to go.” Then she turned to Margaret and
+reminded her that the marquis desired to see her, and waited for her
+answer.
+
+“I will not meet him alone,” said Margaret decidedly.
+
+“That is awkward,” answered Inez, “as I think he has words to say to
+you which he does not wish others to hear, especially the señora
+yonder,” and she nodded towards Betty.
+
+“I will not meet him alone,” repeated Margaret.
+
+“Yet, if things are to go forward as we have arranged, you must meet
+him, Dona Margaret, and give him that answer which he desires. Well, I
+think it can be arranged. The court below is large. Now, while you and
+the marquis talk at one end of it, the Señora Betty and I might walk
+out of earshot at the other. She needs more instruction in our Spanish
+tongue; it would be a good opportunity to begin our lessons.”
+
+“But what am I to say to him?” asked Margaret nervously.
+
+“I think,” answered Inez, “that you must copy the example of that
+wonderful actor, the Señor Peter, and play a part as well as you saw
+him do, or even better, if possible.”
+
+“It must be a very different part then,” replied Margaret, stiffening
+visibly at certain recollections.
+
+The gentle Inez smiled as she said:
+
+“Yes, but surely you can seem jealous, for that is natural to us all,
+and you can yield by degrees, and you can make a bargain as the price
+of yourself in marriage.”
+
+“What exact bargain should I make?”
+
+“I think that you shall be securely wed by a priest of your own Church,
+and that letters, signed by that priest and announcing the marriage,
+shall be delivered to the Archbishop of Seville, and to their Majesties
+King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. Also, of course, you must arrange
+that the Señor Brome and your father, the Señor Castell, and your
+cousin Betty here shall be escorted safe out of Granada before your
+marriage, and that you shall see them pass through the gate beneath
+your turret window, swearing that thereafter, at nightfall of the same
+day, you will suffer the priest to do his office and make you Morella’s
+wife. By that time they should be well upon their road, and, after the
+rite is celebrated, I will receive the signed papers from the priest
+and follow them, leaving the false bride to play her part as best she
+can.”
+
+Again Margaret hesitated; the thing seemed too complicated and full of
+danger. But while she thought, a knock came on the door.
+
+“That is to tell me that Morella awaits your answer in the court,” said
+Inez. “Now, which is it to be? Remember that there is no other chance
+of escape for you, or the others, from this guarded town—at least I can
+see none.”
+
+“I accept,” said Margaret hurriedly, “and God help us all, for we shall
+need Him.”
+
+“And you, Señora Betty?”
+
+“Oh! I made up my mind long ago,” answered Betty coolly. “We can only
+fail, when we shall be no worse off than before.”
+
+“Good. Then play your parts well, both of you. After all, they should
+not be so difficult, for the priest is safe, and the marquis will never
+scent such a trick as this. Fix the marriage for this day week, as I
+have much to think of and make ready,” and she went.
+
+Half an hour later Margaret sat under the cool arcade of the marble
+court, and with her, Morella, while upon the further side of its
+splashing fountain and out of earshot, Betty and Inez walked to and fro
+in the shadow.
+
+“You sent for me, Marquis,” said Margaret presently, “and, being your
+prisoner, I have come because I must. What is your pleasure with me?”
+
+“Dona Margaret,” he answered gravely, “can you not guess? Well, I will
+tell you, lest you should guess wrong. First, it is to ask your
+forgiveness as I have done before, for the many crimes to which my
+love, my true love, for you has driven me. This time yesterday I knew
+well that I could expect none. To-day I dare to hope that it may be
+otherwise.”
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+“To-day I dare to hope that it may be otherwise”
+
+“Why so, Marquis?”
+
+“Last evening you looked into a certain garden and saw two people
+walking there—yonder is one of them,” and he nodded towards Inez.
+“Shall I go on?”
+
+“No,” she answered in a low voice, and passing her hands before her
+face. “Only tell me who and what is that woman?” and in her turn she
+looked towards Inez.
+
+“Is it necessary?” he asked. “Well, if you wish to know, she is a
+Spaniard of good blood who with her sister was taken captive by the
+Moors. A certain priest, who took an interest in the sister, brought
+her to my notice and I bought her from them; so, as her parents were
+dead and she had nowhere else to go, she elected to stay in my house.
+You must not judge such things too harshly; they are common here. Also,
+she has been very useful to me, being clever, for through her I have
+intelligence of many things. Of late, however, she has grown tired of
+this life, and wishes to earn her freedom, which I have promised her in
+return for certain services, and to leave Granada.”
+
+“Was the nursing of my betrothed one of those services, Marquis?”
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“As you will, Señora. Certainly I forgive her this indiscretion, if at
+last she has shown you the truth about that man for whose sake you have
+endured so much. Margaret, now that you know him for what he is, say,
+do you still cling to him?”
+
+She rose and walked a few steps down the arcade, then came back and
+asked:
+
+“Are you any better than this fallen man?”
+
+“I think so, Margaret, for since I knew you I am a risen man; all my
+old self is left behind me, I am a new creature, and my sins have been
+for you, not against you. Hear me, I beseech you. I stole you away, it
+is true, but I have done you no harm, and will do you none. For your
+sake also I have spared your father when I had but to make a sign to
+remove him from my path. I suffered him to escape from the prison where
+he was confined, and I know the place where he thinks himself hidden
+to-day among the Jews of Granada. Also, I nursed Peter Brome back to
+life, when at any hour I could have let him die, lest afterwards I
+might have it on my conscience that, but for my love for you, he might
+perhaps still be living. Well, you have seen him as he is, and what say
+you now? Will you still reject me? Look on me,” and he drew up his tall
+and stately shape, “and tell me, am I such a man as a woman should be
+ashamed to own as husband? Remember, too, that I have much to give you
+in this land of Spain, whereof you shall become one of the greatest
+ladies, or perhaps in the future,” he added significantly, “even more.
+War draws near, Margaret; this city and all its rich territories will
+fall into the hands of Spain, and afterwards I shall be their governor,
+almost their king.”
+
+“And if I refuse?” asked Margaret.
+
+“Then,” he answered sternly, “you bide here, and that false lover of
+yours bides here, and your father bides here to take the chance of war
+as Christian captives with a thousand others who languish in the
+dungeons of the Alhambra, while, my mission ended, I go hence to play
+my part in battle amongst my peers, as one of the first captains of
+their Most Catholic Majesties. Yet it is not to your fears that I would
+appeal, but to your heart, for I seek your love and your dear
+companionship through life, and, if I can help it, desire to work you
+and yours no harm.”
+
+“You desire to work them no harm. Then, if I were to fall in with your
+humour, would you let them go in safety?—I mean my father and the Señor
+Brome and my cousin Betty, whom, if you were as honest as you pretend
+to be, you should ask to bide with you as your wife, and not myself.”
+
+“The last I cannot do,” he answered, flushing. “God knows I meant her
+no hurt, and only used her to keep near to and win news of you,
+thinking her, to tell truth, somewhat other than she is.”
+
+“Are no women honest here in Spain, then, my lord Marquis?”
+
+“A few, a very few, Dona Margaret. But I erred about Betty, whom I took
+for a simple serving-girl, and to whom, if need be, I am ready to make
+all amends.”
+
+“Except that which is due to a woman you have asked to be your wife,
+and who in our country could claim the fulfilment of your promise, or
+declare you shamed. But you have not answered. Would they go free?”
+
+“As free as air—especially the Señora Betty,” he added with a little
+smile, “for to speak truth, there is something in that woman’s eyes
+which frightens me at times. I think that she has a long memory. Within
+an hour of our marriage you shall look down from your window and see
+them depart under escort, every one, to go whither they will.”
+
+“Nay,” answered Margaret, “it is not enough. I should need to see them
+go before, and then, if I consented, not till the sun had set would I
+pay the price of their ransom.”
+
+“Then do you consent? he asked eagerly.
+
+“My lord Marquis, it would seem that I must. My betrothed has played me
+false. For a month or more I have been prisoner in your palace, which I
+understand has no good name, and, if I refuse, you tell me that all of
+us will be cast into yonder dungeons to be sold as slaves or die
+prisoners of the Moors. My lord Marquis, fate and you leave me but
+little choice. On this day week I will marry you, but blame me not if
+you find me other than you think, as you have found my cousin whom you
+befooled. Till then, also, I pray you that you will leave me quite
+untroubled. If you have arrangements to make or commands to send, the
+woman Inez yonder will serve as messenger, for of her I know the
+worst.”
+
+“I will obey you in all things, Dona Margaret,” he answered humbly. “Do
+you desire to see your father or—” and he paused.
+
+“Neither of them,” she answered. “I will write to them and send my
+letters by this Inez. Why should I see them,” she added passionately,
+“who have done with the old days when I was free and happy, and am
+about to become the wife of the most noble Marquis of Morella, that
+honourable grandee of Spain, who tricked a poor girl by a false promise
+of marriage, and used her blind and loving folly to trap and steal me
+from my home? My lord, till this day week I bid you farewell,” and,
+walking from the arcade to the fountain, she called aloud to Betty to
+accompany her to their rooms.
+
+The week for which Margaret had bargained had gone by. All was
+prepared. Inez had shown to Morella the letters that his bride to be
+wrote to her father and to Peter Brome; also the answers, imploring and
+passionate, to the same. But there were other letters and other answers
+which she had not shown. It was afternoon, swift horses were ready in
+the courtyard, and with them an escort, while, disguised as Moors,
+Castell and Peter waited under guard in a chamber close at hand. Betty,
+dressed in the robes of a Moorish woman, and thickly veiled, stood
+before Morella, to whom Inez had led her.
+
+“I come to tell you,” she said, “that at sundown, three hours after we
+have passed beneath her window, my cousin and mistress will wait to be
+made your wife, but if you try to disturb her before then she will be
+no wife of yours, or any man’s.”
+
+“I obey,” answered Morella; “and, Señora Betty, I pray your pardon, and
+that you will accept this gift from me in token of your forgiveness.”
+And with a low bow he handed to her a beautiful necklace of pearls.
+
+“I take them,” said Betty, with a bitter laugh, “as they may serve to
+buy me a passage back to England. But forgive you I do not, Marquis of
+Morella, and I warn you that there is a score between us which I may
+yet live to settle. You seem to have won, but God in Heaven takes note
+of the wickedness of men, and in this way or in that He always pays His
+debts. Now I go to bid farewell to my cousin Margaret, but to you I do
+not bid farewell, for I think that we shall meet again,” and with a sob
+she let fall the veil which she had lifted above her lips to speak and
+departed with Inez, to whom she whispered as they went, “He will not
+linger for any more good-byes with Betty Dene.”
+
+They entered Margaret’s room and locked the door behind them. She was
+seated on a low divan wrapped in a loose robe, and by her side,
+glittering with silver and with gems, lay her bridal veil and garments.
+
+“Be swift,” said Inez to Betty, who stripped off her Moorish dress and
+the long, flowing veil that was wrapped about her head, whereon it was
+seen that her hair had changed greatly in colour, from yellow to dark
+chestnut indeed, while her eyes, ringed about with pigments, and made
+lustrous by drugs dropped into them, looked no longer blue, but black
+like Margaret’s. Yes, and wonder of wonders, on the right side of the
+chin and on the back of the neck were moles, or beauty-spots, just such
+as Margaret had borne there from her birth! In short, their stature
+being much the same, though Betty was more thickly built, except in the
+strongest light it would not have been easy to distinguish them apart,
+even unveiled, for at all such arts of the altering of the looks of
+women, Inez was an adept, and she had done her best.
+
+Now Margaret clothed herself in the white robes and the thick
+head-dress that hid her face, all except a little crack left for the
+eyes to peep through, whilst Betty, with the help of Inez, arrayed
+herself in the wondrous wedding robe beset with jewels that was
+Morella’s bridal gift, and hid her dyed tresses beneath the pearl-sewn
+veil. Within ten minutes all was finished, even to the dagger that
+Betty had tied about her beneath her robe, and the two transformed
+women stood staring at each other.
+
+“It is time to go,” said Inez.
+
+Then Margaret broke out:
+
+“I do not like this business; I never did. When he discovers all, that
+man’s rage will be terrible, and he will kill her. I repent that I have
+consented to the plot.”
+
+“It is too late to repent now, Señora,” said Inez.
+
+“Cannot Betty be got away also?” asked Margaret desperately.
+
+“It is just possible,” answered Inez; “thus, before the marriage,
+according to the old custom here, I hand the cups of wine to the
+bridegroom and the bride. That for the marquis will be drugged, since
+he must not see too clear to-night. Well, I might brew it stronger so
+that within half an hour he would not know whether he were married or
+single, and then, perhaps, she might escape with me and come to join
+you. But it is very risky, and, of course, if we were discovered—the
+stitch would be out of the wineskin, and the cellar floor might be
+stained!”
+
+Now Betty interrupted:
+
+“Keep your stitches whole, Cousin; if any skins are to be pricked it
+can’t be helped, and at least you won’t have to wipe up the mess. I am
+not going to run away from the man, more likely he will run away from
+me. I look well in this fine dress of yours, and I mean to wear it out.
+Now begone—begone, before some of them come to seek me. Don’t you
+grieve for me; I’ll lie in the bed that I have made, and if the worst
+comes to the worst, I have money in my pocket—or its worth—and we will
+meet again in England. Come, give my love and duty to Master Peter and
+your father, and if I should see them no more, bid them think kindly of
+Betty Dene, who was such a plague to them.”
+
+Then, taking Margaret in her strong arms, she kissed her again and
+again, and fairly thrust her from the room.
+
+But when they were gone, poor Betty sat down and cried a little, till
+she remembered that hot tears might melt the paint upon her face, and,
+drying them, went to the window and watched.
+
+A while later, from her lofty niche, she saw six Moorish horsemen
+riding along the white road to the embattled gate. After them came two
+men and a woman, all splendidly mounted, also dressed as Moors, and
+then six other horsemen. They passed the gate which was opened for them
+and began to mount the slope beyond. At the crest of it the woman
+halted and, turning, waved a handkerchief. Betty answered the signal,
+and in another minute they had vanished, and she was alone.
+
+Never did she spend a more weary afternoon. Two hours later, still
+watching at her window, she saw the Moorish escort return, and knew
+that all was well, and that by now, Margaret, her lover, and her father
+were safely started on their journey. So she had not risked her life in
+vain.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+THE HOLY HERMANDAD.
+
+
+Down the long passages, through the great, fretted halls, across the
+cool marble courts, flitted Inez and Margaret. It was like a dream.
+They went through a room where women, idling or working at tapestries,
+looked at them curiously. Margaret heard one of them say to another:
+
+“Why does the Dona Margaret’s cousin leave her?” And the answer,
+“Because she is in love with the marquis herself, and cannot bear to
+stay.”
+
+“What a fool!” said the first woman. “She is good looking, and would
+only have had to wait a few weeks.”
+
+They passed an open door, that of Morella’s own chambers. Within it he
+stood and watched them go by. When they were opposite to him some doubt
+or idea seemed to strike his mind, for he looked at them keenly,
+stepped forward, then, thinking better of it, or perhaps remembering
+Betty’s bitter tongue, halted and turned aside. That danger had gone
+by!
+
+At length, none hindering them, they reached the yard where the escort
+and the horses waited. Here, standing under an archway, were Castell
+and Peter. Castell greeted Margaret in English and kissed her through
+her veil, while Peter, who had not seen her close since months before
+he rode away to Dedham, stared at her with all his eyes, and began to
+draw near to her, designing to find out, as he was sure he could do if
+once he touched her, whether indeed this were Margaret, or only Betty
+after all. Guessing what was in his mind, and that he might reveal
+everything, Inez, who held a long pin in her hand with which she was
+fastening her veil that had come loose, pretended to knock against him,
+and ran the point deep into his arm, muttering, “Fool!” as she did so.
+He sprang back with an oath, the guard smiled, and she began to pray
+his pardon.
+
+Castell helped Margaret on to her horse, then mounted his own, as did
+Peter, still rubbing his arm, but not daring to look towards Margaret,
+whose hand Inez shook familiarly in farewell as though she were her
+equal, addressing her the while in terms of endearment such as Spanish
+women use to each other. An officer of Morella’s household came and
+counted them, saying:
+
+“Two men and a woman. That is right, though I cannot see the woman’s
+face.”
+
+For a moment he seemed to be about to order her to unveil, but Inez
+called to him that it was not decent before all these Moors, whereon he
+nodded and ordered the captain to proceed.
+
+They rode through the arch of the castle along the roadway, through the
+great gate of the wall also, where the guard questioned their escort,
+stared at them, and, after receiving a present from Castell, let them
+go, telling them they were lucky Christians to get alive out of
+Granada, as indeed they were.
+
+At the brow of the rise Margaret turned and waved her handkerchief
+towards that high window which she knew so well. Another handkerchief
+was waved in answer, and, thinking of the lonely Betty watching them
+there while she awaited the issue of her desperate venture, Margaret
+went on, weeping beneath her veil. For an hour they rode forward,
+speaking few words to each other, till at length they came to the
+cross-roads, one of which ran to Malaga, and the other towards Seville.
+
+Here the escort halted, saying that their orders were to leave them at
+this point, and asking which road they intended to take. Castell
+answered that to Malaga, whereon the captain replied that they were
+wise, as they were less likely to meet bands of marauding thieves who
+called themselves Christian soldiers, and murdered or robbed all
+travellers who fell into their hands. Then Castell offered him a
+present, which he accepted gravely, as though he did him a great
+favour, and, after bows and salutations, they departed.
+
+As soon as the Moors were gone the three rode a little way towards
+Malaga. Then, when there was nobody in sight, they turned across
+country and gained the Seville road. At last they were alone and,
+halting beneath the walls of a house that had been burnt in some
+Christian raid, they spoke together freely for the first time, and oh!
+what a moment was that for all of them!
+
+Peter pushed his horse alongside that of Margaret, crying:
+
+“Speak, beloved. Is it truly you?”
+
+But Margaret, taking no heed of him, leant over and, throwing her arm
+around her father’s neck, kissed him again and again through her veil,
+blessing God that they had lived to meet in safety. Peter tried to kiss
+her also; but she caused her horse to move so that he nearly fell from
+his saddle.
+
+“Have a care, Peter,” she said to him, “or your love of kissing will
+lead you into more trouble.” Whereon, guessing of what she spoke, he
+coloured furiously, and began to explain at length.
+
+“Cease,” she said—“cease. I know all that story, for I saw you,” then,
+relenting, with some brief, sweet words of greeting and gratitude, gave
+him her hand, which he kissed often enough.
+
+“Come,” said Castell, “we must push on, who have twenty miles to cover
+before we reach that inn where Israel has arranged that we should sleep
+to-night. We will talk as we go.” And talk they did, as well as the
+roughness of the road and the speed at which they must travel would
+allow.
+
+Riding as hard as they were able, at length they came to the venta, or
+rough hostelry, just as the darkness closed in. At the sight of it they
+thanked God aloud, for this place was across the Moorish border, and
+now they had little to fear from Granada. The host, a half-bred
+Spaniard and a Christian, expected them, having received a message from
+Israel, with whom he had had dealings, and gave them two rooms, rude
+enough, but sufficient, and good food and wine, also stabling and
+barley for their horses, bidding them sleep well and have no fear, as
+he and his people would watch and warn them of any danger.
+
+Yet it was late before they slept, who had so much to say to each
+other—especially Peter and Margaret—and were so happy at their escape,
+if only for a little while. Yet across their joy, like the sound of a
+funeral bell at a merry feast, came the thought of Betty and that
+fateful marriage in which ere now she must have played her part.
+Indeed, at last Margaret knelt down and offered up prayers to Heaven
+that the saints might protect her cousin in the great peril which she
+had incurred for them, nor was Peter ashamed to join her in that
+prayer. Then they embraced—especially Peter and Margaret—and laid them
+down, Castell and his daughter in one room, and Peter in the other, and
+slept as best they could.
+
+Half an hour before dawn Peter was up seeing to the horses while the
+others breakfasted and packed the food that the landlord had made ready
+for their journey. Then he also swallowed some meat and wine, and at
+the first break of day, having discharged their reckoning and taken a
+letter from their host to those of other inns upon the road, they
+pressed on towards Seville, very thankful to find that as yet there
+were no signs of their being pursued.
+
+All that day, with short pauses to rest themselves and their horses,
+they rode on without accident, for the most part over a fertile plain
+watered by several rivers which they crossed at fords or over bridges.
+As night fell they reached the old town of Oxuna, which for many hours
+they had seen set upon its hill before them, and, notwithstanding their
+Moorish dress, made their way almost unobserved in the darkness to that
+inn to which they had been recommended. Here, although he stared at
+their garments, on finding that they had plenty of money, the landlord
+received them well enough, and again they were fortunate in securing
+rooms to themselves. It had been their purpose to buy Spanish clothes
+in this town, but, as it happened, it was a feast day, and at night
+every shop in the place was closed, so they could get none. Now, as
+they greatly desired to reach Seville by the following nightfall,
+hoping under cover of the darkness to find and come aboard of their
+ship, the Margaret, which they knew lay safely in the river, and had
+been advised by messenger of their intended journey, it was necessary
+for them to leave Oxuna before the dawn. So, unfortunately enough as it
+proved, it was impossible for them to put off their Moorish robes and
+clothe themselves as Christians.
+
+They had hoped, too, that here at Oxuna Inez might overtake them, as
+she had promised to do if she could, and give them tidings of what had
+happened since they left Granada. But no Inez came. So, comforting
+themselves with the thought that however hard she rode it would be
+difficult for her to reach them, who had some hours’ start, they left
+Oxuna in the darkness before any one was astir.
+
+Having crossed some miles of plain, they passed up through olive groves
+into hills where cork-trees grew, and here stopped to eat and let the
+horses feed. Just as they were starting on again, Peter, looking round,
+saw mounted men—a dozen or more of them of very wild aspect—cantering
+through the trees evidently with the object of cutting them off.
+
+“Thieves!” he said shortly. “Ride for it.”
+
+So they began to gallop, and their horses, although somewhat jaded,
+being very swift, passed in front of these men before they could regain
+the road. The band shouted to them to surrender, and, as they did not
+stop, loosed a few arrows and pursued them, while they galloped down
+the hillside on to a plain which separated them from more hills also
+clothed with cork-trees. This plain was about three miles wide and
+boggy in places. Still they kept well ahead of the brigands, as they
+took them to be, hoping that they would give up the pursuit or lose
+sight of them amongst the trees. As they entered these, however, to
+their dismay they saw, drawn up in front of them and right across the
+road, another band of rough-looking men, perhaps twelve in all.
+
+“Trap!” said Peter. “We must ride through them—it is our only chance,”
+at the same time spurring his horse to the front and drawing his sword.
+
+Choosing the spot where their line was weakest he dashed through it
+easily enough but next second heard a cry from Margaret, and pulled his
+horse round to see that her mare had fallen, and that she and Castell
+were in the hands of the thieves. Indeed, already rough men had hold of
+her, and one of them was trying to tear the veil from her face. With a
+shout of rage Peter charged them, and struck so fierce a blow that his
+sword cut through the fellow’s helmet into his skull, so that he fell
+down, dying or dead, Margaret’s veil still in his hand.
+
+Then they rushed at him, five or six of them, and, although he wounded
+another man, dragged him from his horse, and, as he lay upon his back,
+sprang at him to finish him before he could rise. Already their knives
+and swords were over him, and he was making his farewells to life, when
+he heard a voice command them to desist and bind his arms. This was
+quickly done, and he was suffered to rise from the ground to see before
+him, not Morella, as he half expected, but a man clad in fine armour
+beneath his rough cloak, evidently an officer of rank. “What kind of a
+Moor are you,” he asked, “who dare to kill the soldiers of the Holy
+Hermandad in the heart of the King’s country?” and he pointed to the
+dead man.
+
+“I am not a Moor,” answered Peter in his rough Spanish. “I am a
+Christian escaped from Granada, and I cut down that man because he was
+trying to insult my betrothed, as you would have done, Señor. I did not
+know that he was a soldier of the Hermandad; I thought him a common
+thief of the hills.”
+
+This speech, or as much as he could understand of it, seemed to please
+the officer, but before he could answer, Castell said:
+
+“Sir Officer, the señor is an Englishman, and does not speak your
+language well—”
+
+“He uses his sword well, anyhow,” interrupted the captain, glancing at
+the dead soldier’s cloven helm and head.
+
+“Yes, Sir, he is of your trade and, as the scar upon his face shows,
+has fought in many wars. Sir, what he tells you is true. We are
+Christian captives escaped from Granada and flying to Seville with my
+daughter, to whom I pray you to do no harm, to ask for the protection
+of their gracious Majesties, and to find a passage back to England.”
+
+“You do not look like an Englishman,” answered the captain; “you look
+like a Marano.”
+
+“Sir, I cannot help my looks. I am a merchant of London, Castell by
+name. It is one well known in Seville and throughout this land, where I
+have large dealings, as, if I can but see him, your king himself will
+acknowledge. Be not deceived by our dress, which we had to put on in
+order to escape from Granada, but, I beseech you, let us go on to
+Seville.”
+
+“Señor Castell,” answered the officer, “I am the Captain Arrano of
+Puebla, and, since you would not stop when we called to you, and have
+killed one of my best soldiers, to Seville you must certainly go, but
+with me, not by yourselves. You are my prisoners, but have no fear. No
+violence shall be done to you or the lady, who must take your trials
+for your deeds before the King’s court, and there tell your story, true
+or false.”
+
+So, having been disarmed of their swords, they were allowed to remount
+their horses and taken on towards Seville as prisoners.
+
+“At least,” said Margaret to Peter, “we have nothing more to fear from
+highwaymen, and have escaped these soldiers’ swords unhurt.”
+
+“Yes,” answered Peter with a groan, “but I hoped that to-night we
+should have slept upon the Margaret while she slipped down the river
+towards the open sea, and not in a Spanish jail. Now, as fate will have
+it, for the second time I have killed a man on your behalf, and all the
+business will begin again. Truly our luck is bad!”
+
+“I think it might be worse, and I cannot blame you for that deed,”
+answered Margaret, remembering the rough hands of the dead soldier,
+whom some of his comrades had stopped behind to bury.
+
+During all the remainder of that long day they rode on through the
+burning heat, across the rich, cultivated plain, towards the great city
+of Seville, whereof the Giralda, which once had been the minaret of a
+Moorish mosque, towered hundreds of feet into the air before them. At
+length, towards evening, they entered the eastern suburbs of the vast
+city and, passing through them and a great gate beyond, began to thread
+its tortuous streets.
+
+“Whither go we, Captain Arrano?” asked Castell presently.
+
+“To the prison of the Holy Hermandad to await your trial for the
+slaying of one of its soldiers,” answered the officer.
+
+“I pray that we may get there soon then,” said Peter, looking at
+Margaret, who, overcome with fatigue, swayed upon her saddle like a
+flower in the wind.
+
+“So do I,” muttered Castell, glancing round at the dark faces of the
+people, who, having discovered that they had killed a Spanish soldier,
+and taking them to be Moors, were marching alongside of them in great
+numbers, staring sullenly, or cursing them for infidels. Indeed, once
+when they passed a square, a priest in the mob cried out, “Kill them!”
+whereon a number of rough fellows made a rush to pull them off their
+horses, and were with difficulty beaten back by the soldiers.
+
+Foiled in this attempt they began to pelt them with garbage, so that
+soon their white robes were stained and filthy. One fellow, too, threw
+a stone which struck Margaret on the wrist, causing her to cry out and
+drop her rein. This was too much for the hot-blooded Peter, who,
+spurring his horse alongside of him, before the soldiers could
+interfere, hit him such a buffet in the face that the man rolled upon
+the ground. Now Castell thought that they would certainly be killed,
+but to his surprise the mob only laughed and shouted such things as
+“Well hit, Moor!” “That infidel has a strong arm,” and so forth.
+
+Nor was the officer angry, for when the man rose, a knife in his hand,
+he drew his sword and struck him down again with the flat of it, saying
+to Peter:
+
+“Do not sully your hand with such street swine, Señor.”
+
+Then he turned and commanded his men to charge the crowd ahead of them.
+
+So they got through these people and, after many twists and turns down
+side streets to avoid the main avenues, came to a great and gloomy
+building and into a courtyard through barred gates that were opened at
+their approach and shut after them. Here they were ordered to dismount
+and their horses led away, while the officer, Arrano, entered into
+conversation with the governor of the prison, a man with a stern but
+not unkindly face, who surveyed them with much curiosity. Presently he
+approached and asked them if they could pay for good rooms, as if not
+he must put them in the common cells.
+
+Castell answered, “Yes,” and, by way of earnest of it, produced five
+pieces of gold, and giving them to the Captain Arrano, begged him to
+distribute them among his soldiers as a thankoffering for their
+protection of them through the streets. Also, he said loudly enough for
+every one to hear, that he would be willing to compensate the relatives
+of the man whom Peter had killed by accident—an announcement that
+evidently impressed his comrades very favourably. Indeed one of them
+said he would bear the message to his widow, and, on behalf of the
+rest, thanked him for his gift. Then having bade farewell to the
+officer, who told them that they would meet again before the judges,
+they were led through the various passages of the prison to two rooms,
+one small and one of a fair size with heavily barred windows, given
+water to wash in, and told that food would be brought to them.
+
+In due course it came, carried by jailers—meat, eggs, and wine, and
+glad enough were they to see it. While they ate, also the governor
+appeared with a notary, and, having waited till their meal was
+finished, began to question them.
+
+“Our story is long,” said Castell, “but with your leave I will tell it
+you, only, I pray you, suffer my daughter, the Dona Margaret, to go to
+rest, for she is quite outworn, and if you will you can question her
+to-morrow.”
+
+The governor assenting, Margaret threw off her veil to embrace her
+father, thus showing her beauty for the first time, whereat the
+governor and the notary stared amazed. Then having given Peter her hand
+to kiss, and curtseyed to the governor and the notary, she went to her
+bed in the next room, which opened out of that in which they were.
+
+When she had gone, Castell told his story of how his daughter had been
+kidnapped by the Marquis of Morella, a name that caused the governor to
+open his eyes very wide, and brought from London to Granada, whither
+they, her father and her betrothed, had followed her and escaped. But
+of Betty and all the business of the changed bride he said nothing.
+Also, knowing that these must come out in any case, he told them his
+name and business, and those of his partners and correspondents in
+Seville, the firm of Bernaldez, which was one that the governor knew
+well enough, and prayed that the head of that firm, the Señor Juan
+Bernaldez, might be communicated with and allowed to visit them on the
+next morning. Lastly, he explained that they were no thieves or
+adventurers, but English subjects in misfortune, and again hinted that
+they were both able and willing to pay for any kindness or
+consideration that was shown to them, of all of which sayings the
+governor took note.
+
+Also this officer said that he would communicate with his superiors,
+and, if no objection were made, send a messenger to ask the Señor
+Bernaldez to attend at the prison on the following day. Then at length
+he and the notary departed, and, the jailers having cleared away the
+food and locked the door, Castell and Peter lay down on the beds that
+they had made ready for them, thankful enough to find themselves at
+Seville, even though in a prison, where indeed they slept very well
+that night.
+
+On the following morning they woke much refreshed, and, after they had
+breakfasted, the governor appeared, and with him none other than the
+Señor Juan Bernaldez, Castell’s secret correspondent and Spanish
+partner, whom he had last seen some years before in England, a stout
+man with a quiet, clever face, not over given to words.
+
+Greeting them with a deference that was not lost upon the governor, he
+asked whether he had leave to speak with them alone. The governor
+assented and went, saying he would return within an hour. As soon as
+the door was closed behind him, Bernaldez said:
+
+“This is a strange place to meet you in, John Castell, yet I am not
+altogether surprised, since some of your messages reached me through
+our friends the Jews; also your ship, the Margaret, lies refitted in
+the river, and to avoid suspicion I have been lading her slowly with a
+cargo for England, though how you will come aboard that ship is more
+than I can say. But we have no time to waste. Tell me all your story,
+keeping nothing back.”
+
+So they told him everything as quickly as they could, while he listened
+silently. When they had done, he said, addressing Peter:
+
+“It is a thousand pities, young sir, that you could not keep your hands
+off that soldier, for now the trouble that was nearly done with has
+begun anew, and in a worse shape. The Marquis of Morella is a very
+powerful man in this kingdom, as you may know from the fact that he was
+sent to London by their Majesties to negotiate a treaty with your
+English King Henry as to the Jews and their treatment, should any of
+them escape thither after they have been expelled from Spain. For
+nothing less is in the wind, and I would have you know that their
+Majesties hate the Jews, and especially the Maranos, whom already they
+burn by dozens here in Seville,” and he glanced meaningly at Castell.
+
+“I am very sorry,” said Peter, “but the fellow handled her roughly, and
+I was maddened at the sight and could not help myself. This is the
+second time that I have come into trouble from the same cause. Also, I
+thought that he was but a bandit.”
+
+“Love is a bad diplomatist,” replied Bernaldez, with a little smile,
+“and who can count last year’s clouds? What is done, is done. Now I
+will try to arrange that the three of you shall be brought straight
+before their Majesties when they sit to hear cases on the day after
+to-morrow. With the Queen you will have a better chance than at the
+hands of any alcalde. She has a heart, if only one can get at it—that
+is, except where Jews and Maranos are concerned,” and again he glanced
+at Castell. “Meanwhile, there is money in plenty, and in Spain we ride
+to heaven on gold angels,” he added, alluding to that coin and the
+national corruption.
+
+Before they could say more the governor returned, saying that the Señor
+Bernaldez’ time was up, and asking if they had finished their talk.
+
+“Not altogether,” said Margaret. “Noble Governor, is it permitted that
+the Señor Bernaldez should send me some Christian clothes to wear, for
+I would not appear before your judges in this soiled heathen garb, nor,
+I think, would my father or the Señor Brome?”
+
+The governor laughed, and said he thought that might be arranged, and
+even allowed them another five minutes, while they talked of what these
+clothes should be. Then he departed with Bernaldez, leaving them alone.
+
+It was not until the latter had gone, however, that they remembered
+that they had forgotten to ask him whether he had heard anything of the
+woman Inez, who had been furnished with his address, but, as he had
+said nothing of her, they felt sure that she could not have arrived in
+Seville, and once more were much afraid as to what might have happened
+after they had left Granada.
+
+That night, to their grief and alarm, a new trouble fell on them. Just
+as they finished their supper the governor appeared and said that, by
+order of the Court before which they must be tried, the Señor Brome,
+who was accused of murder, must be separated from them. So, in spite of
+all they could say or do, Peter was led away to a separate cell,
+leaving Margaret weeping.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+BETTY PAYS HER DEBTS.
+
+
+Betty Dene was not a woman afflicted with fears or apprehensions. Born
+of good parents, but in poverty, for six-and-twenty years she had
+fought her own way in a rough world and made the best of circumstances.
+Healthy, full-blooded, tough, affectionate, romantic, but honest in her
+way, she was well fitted to meet the ups and downs of life, to keep her
+head above the waters of a turbulent age, and to pay back as much as
+she received from man or woman.
+
+Yet those long hours which she passed alone in the high turret chamber,
+waiting till they summoned her to play the part of a false bride, were
+the worst that she had ever spent. She knew that her position was, in a
+sense, shameful, and like to end in tragedy, and, now that she faced it
+in cold blood, began to wonder why she had chosen so to do. She had
+fallen in love with the Spaniard almost at first sight, though it is
+true that something like this had happened to her before with other
+men. Then he had played his part with her, till, quite deceived, she
+gave all her heart to him in good earnest, believing in her infatuation
+that, notwithstanding the difference of their place and rank, he
+desired to make her his wife for her own sake.
+
+Afterwards came that bitter day of disillusion when she learned, as
+Inez had said to Castell, that she was but a stalking heifer used for
+the taking of the white swan, her cousin and mistress—that day when she
+had been beguiled by the letter which was still hid in her garments,
+and for her pains heard herself called a fool to her face. In her heart
+she had sworn to be avenged upon Morella then, and now the hour had
+come in which to fulfil her oath and play him back trick for cruel
+trick.
+
+Did she still love the man? She could not say. He was pleasing to her
+as he had always been, and when that is so women forgive much. This was
+certain, however—love was not her guide to-night. Was it vengeance then
+that led her on? Perhaps; at least she longed to be able to say to him,
+“See what craft lies hid even in the bosom of an outwitted fool.”
+
+Yet she would not have done it for vengeance’ sake alone, or rather she
+would have paid herself in some other fashion. No, her real reason was
+that she must discharge the debt due to Margaret and Peter, and to
+Castell who had sheltered her for years. She it was who had brought
+them into all this woe, and it seemed but just that she should bring
+them out again, even at the cost of her own life and womanly dignity.
+Or, perchance, all three of these powers drove her on,—love for the man
+if it still lingered, the desire to be avenged upon him, and the desire
+to snatch his prey from out his maw. At least she had set the game, and
+she would play it out to its end, however awful that might be.
+
+The sun sank, the darkness closed about her, and she wondered whether
+ever again she would see the dawn. Her brave heart quailed a little,
+and she gripped the dagger hilt beneath her splendid, borrowed robe,
+thinking to herself that perhaps it might be wisest to drive it into
+her own breast, and not wait until a balked madman did that office for
+her. Yet not so, for it is always time to die when one must.
+
+A knock came at the door, and her courage, which had sunk so low,
+burned up again within her. Oh! she would teach this Spaniard that the
+Englishwoman, whom he had made believe was his desired mistress, could
+be his master. At any rate, he should hear the truth before the end.
+
+She unlocked the door, and Inez entered bearing a lamp, by the light of
+which she scanned her with her quiet eyes.
+
+“The bridegroom is ready,” she said slowly that Betty might understand,
+“and sends me to lead you to him. Are you afraid?”
+
+“Not I,” answered Betty. “But tell me, how will the thing be done?”
+
+“The marquis meets us in the ante-room to that hall which is used as a
+chapel, and there on behalf of the household I, as the first of the
+women, give you both the cups of wine. Be sure that you drink of that
+which I hold in my left hand, passing the cup up beneath your veil so
+as not to show your face, and speak no word, lest he should recognise
+your voice. Then we shall go into the chapel, where the priest
+Henriques waits, also all the household. But that hall is great, and
+the lamps are feeble, so none will know you there. By this time also
+the drugged wine will have begun to work upon Morella’s brain,
+wherefore, provided that you use a low voice, you may safely say, ‘I,
+Betty, wed thee, Carlos,’ not ‘I, Margaret, wed thee.’ Then, when it is
+over, he will lead you away to the chambers prepared for you, where, if
+there is any virtue in my wine, he will sleep sound to-night, that is,
+as soon as the priest has given me the marriage-lines, whereof I will
+hand you one copy and keep the others. Afterwards——” and she shrugged
+her shoulders.
+
+“What becomes of you?” asked Betty, when she had fully mastered these
+instructions.
+
+“Oh! I and the priest start to-night for a ride together to Seville,
+where his money awaits him; ill company for a woman who means
+henceforth to be honest and rich, but better than none. Perhaps we
+shall meet again there, or perhaps we shall not; at least, you know
+where to seek me and the others, at the house of the Señor Bernaldez.
+Now it is time. Are you ready to be made a marchioness of Spain?”
+
+“Of course,” answered Betty coolly, and they started.
+
+Through the empty halls and corridors they went, and oh! surely no
+Eastern plot that had been conceived in them was quite so bold and
+desperate as theirs. They reached the ante-chamber to the chapel, and
+took their stand outside of the circle of light that fell from its
+hanging lamps. Presently a door opened, and through it came Morella,
+attended by two of his secretaries. He was splendidly arrayed in his
+usual garb of black velvet, and about his neck hung chains of gold and
+jewels, and to his breast were fastened the glittering stars and orders
+pertaining to his rank. Never, or so thought Betty, had Morella seemed
+more magnificent and handsome. He was happy also, who was about to
+drink of that cup of joy which he so earnestly desired. Yes, his face
+showed that he was happy, and Betty, noting it, felt remorse stirring
+in her breast. Low he bowed before her, while she curtseyed to him,
+bending her tall and graceful form till her knee almost touched the
+ground. Then he came to her and whispered in her ear:
+
+“Most sweet, most beloved,” he said, “I thank heaven that has led me to
+this joyous hour by many a rough and dangerous path. Most dear, again I
+beseech you to forgive all the sorrow and the ill that I have brought
+upon you, remembering that it was done for your adored sake, that I
+love you as woman has been seldom loved, you and you only, and that to
+you, and you only, will I cling until my death’s day. Oh! do not
+tremble and shrink, for I swear that no woman in Spain shall have a
+better or a more loyal lord. You I will cherish alone, for you I will
+strive by night and day to lift you to great honour and satisfy your
+every wish. Many and pleasant may the years be that we shall spend side
+by side, and peaceful our ends when at last we lay us down side by side
+to sleep awhile and wake again in heaven, whereof the shadow lies on me
+to-night. Remembering the past, I do not ask much of you—as yet; still,
+if you are minded to give me a bridal gift that I shall prize above
+crowns or empires, say that you forgive me all that I have done amiss,
+and in token, lift that veil of yours and kiss me on the lips.”
+
+Betty heard this speech, whereof she only fully understood the end, and
+trembled. This was a trial that she had not foreseen. Yet it must be
+faced, for speak she dared not. Therefore, gathering up her courage,
+and remembering that the light was at her back, after a little pause,
+as though of modesty and reluctance, she raised the pearl-embroidered
+veil, and, bending forward beneath its shadow, suffered Morella to kiss
+her on the lips.
+
+It was over, the veil had fallen again, and the man suspected nothing.
+
+“I am a good artist,” thought Inez to herself, “and that woman acts
+better than the wooden Peter. Scarcely could I have done it so well
+myself.”
+
+Then, the jealousy and hate that she could not control glittering in
+her soft eyes, for she too had loved this man, and well, Inez lifted
+the golden cups that had been prepared, and, gliding forward, beautiful
+in her broidered, Eastern robe, fell upon her knee and held them to the
+bridegroom and the bride. Morella took that from her right hand, and
+Betty that from her left, nor, intoxicated as he was already with that
+first kiss of love, did he pause to note the evil purpose which was
+written on the face of his discarded slave. Betty, passing the cup
+beneath her veil, touched it with her lips and returned it to Inez; but
+Morella, exclaiming, “I drink to you, sweet bride, most fair and adored
+of women,” drained his to the dregs, and cast it back to Inez as a gift
+in such fashion that the red wine which clung to its rim stained her
+white robes like a splash of blood.
+
+Humbly she bowed, humbly she gathered the precious vessel from the
+floor; but when she rose again there was triumph in her eyes—not hate.
+
+Now Morella took his bride’s hand and, followed by his gentlemen and
+Inez, walked to the curtains that were drawn as they came into the
+great hall beyond, where had mustered all his household, perhaps a
+hundred of them. Between their bowing ranks they passed, a stately
+pair, and, whilst sweet voices sang behind some hidden screen, walked
+onward to the altar, where stood the waiting priest. They kneeled down
+upon the gold-embroidered cushions while the office of the Church was
+read over them. The ring was set upon Betty’s hand—scarce, it would
+seem, could he find her finger—the man took the woman to wife, the
+woman took the man for husband. His voice was thick, and hers was very
+low; of all that listening crowd none could hear the names they spoke.
+
+It was over. The priest bowed and blessed them. They signed some
+papers, there by the light of the altar candles. Father Henriques
+filled in certain names and signed them also, then, casting sand upon
+them, placed them in the outstretched hand of Inez, who, although
+Morella never seemed to notice, gave one to the bride, and thrust the
+other two into the bosom of her robe. Then both she and the priest
+kissed the hands of the marquis and his wife, and asked his leave to be
+gone. He bowed his head vaguely, and—if any had been there to
+listen—within ten short minutes they might have heard two horses
+galloping hard towards the Seville gate.
+
+Now, escorted by pages and torch-bearers, the new-wed pair repassed
+those dim and stately halls, the bride, veiled, mysterious, fateful;
+the bridegroom, empty-eyed, like one who wanders in his sleep. Thus
+they reached their chamber, and its carved doors shut behind them.
+
+It was early morning, and the serving-women who waited without that
+room were summoned to it by the sound of a silver gong. Two of them
+entered and were met by Betty, no longer veiled, but wrapped in a loose
+robe, who said to them:
+
+“My lord the marquis still sleeps. Come, help me dress and make ready
+his bath and food.”
+
+The women stared at her, for now that she had washed the paint from her
+face they knew well that this was the Señora Betty and not the Dona
+Margaret, whom, they had understood, the marquis was to marry. But she
+chid them sharply in her bad Spanish, bidding them be swift, as she
+would be robed before her husband should awake. So they obeyed her, and
+when she was ready she went with them into the great hall where many of
+the household were gathered, waiting to do homage to the new-wed pair,
+and greeted them all, blushing and smiling, saying that doubtless the
+marquis would be among them soon, and commanding them meanwhile to go
+about their several tasks.
+
+So well did Betty play her part indeed, that, although they also were
+bewildered, none questioned her place or authority, who remembered that
+after all they had not been told by their lord himself which of these
+two English ladies he meant to marry. Also, she distributed among the
+meaner of them a present of money on her husband’s behalf and her own,
+and then ate food and drank some wine before them all, pledging them,
+and receiving their salutations and good wishes.
+
+When all this was done, still smiling, Betty returned to the
+marriage-chamber, closing its door behind her, sat her down on a chair
+near the bed, and waited for the worst struggle of all—that struggle on
+which hung her life. See! Morella stirred. He sat up, gazing about him
+and rubbing his brow. Presently his eyes lit upon Betty, seated stern
+and upright in her high chair. She rose and, coming to him, kissed him
+and called him “Husband,” and, still half-asleep, he kissed her back.
+Then she sat down again in her chair and watched his face.
+
+It changed, and changed again. Wonder, fear, amaze, bewilderment,
+flitted over it, till at last he said in English:
+
+“Betty, where is my wife?”
+
+“Here,” answered Betty.
+
+He stared at her. “Nay, I mean the Dona Margaret, your cousin and my
+lady, whom I wed last night. And how come you here? I thought that you
+had left Granada.”
+
+Betty looked astonished.
+
+“I do not understand you,” she answered. “It was my cousin Margaret who
+left Granada. I stayed here to be married to you, as you arranged with
+me through Inez.”
+
+His jaw dropped.
+
+“Arranged with you through Inez! Mother of Heaven! what do you mean?”
+
+“Mean?” she answered—“I mean what I say. Surely”—and she rose in
+indignation—“you have never dared to try to play some new trick upon
+me?”
+
+“Trick!” muttered Morella. “What says the woman? Is all this a dream,
+or am I mad?”
+
+“A dream, I think. Yes, it must be a dream, since certainly it was to
+no madman that I was wed last night. Look,” and she held before him
+that writing of marriage signed by the priest, by him, and by herself,
+which stated that Carlos, Marquis of Morella, was on such a date, at
+Granada, duly married to the Señora Elizabeth Dene of London in
+England.
+
+He read it twice, then sank back gasping; while Betty hid away the
+parchment in her bosom.
+
+Then presently he seemed to go mad indeed. He raved, he cursed, he
+ground his teeth, he looked round for a sword to kill her or himself,
+but could find none. And all the while Betty sat still and gazed at him
+like some living fate.
+
+At length he was weary, and her turn came.
+
+“Listen,” she said. “Yonder in London you promised to marry me; I have
+it hidden away, and in your own writing. By agreement I fled with you
+to Spain. By the mouth of your messenger and former love this marriage
+was arranged between us, I receiving your messages to me, and sending
+back mine to you, since you explained that for reasons of your own you
+did not wish to speak of these matters before my cousin Margaret, and
+could not wed me until she and her father and her lover were gone from
+Granada. So I bade them farewell, and stayed here alone for love of
+you, as I fled from London for love of you, and last night we were
+united, as all your household know, for but now I have eaten with them
+and received their good wishes. And now you dare—you dare to tell me,
+that I, your wife—I, who have sacrificed everything for you, I, the
+Marchioness of Morella, am not your wife. Well, go, say it outside this
+chamber, and hear your very slaves cry ‘Shame’ upon you. Go, say it to
+your king and your bishops, aye, and to his Holiness the Pope himself,
+and listen to their answer. Why, great as you are, and rich as you are,
+they will hale you to a mad-house or a prison.”
+
+Morella listened, rocking himself to and fro upon the bed, then with an
+oath sprang towards her, to be met by a dagger-point glinting in his
+eyes.
+
+“Hear me again,” she said as he shrank back from that cold steel. “I am
+no slave and no weakling; you shall not murder me or thrust me away. I
+am your wife and your equal, aye, and stronger than you in body and in
+mind, and I will have my rights in the face of God and man.”
+
+“Certainly,” he said with a kind of unwilling admiration—“certainly you
+are no weakling. Certainly, also, you have paid back all you owe me
+with a Jew’s interest. Or, mayhap, you are not so clever as I think,
+but just a strong-minded fool, and it is that accursed Inez who has
+settled her debts. Oh! to think of it,” and he shook his fist in the
+air, “to think that I believed myself married to the Dona Margaret, and
+find you in her place—you!”
+
+“Be silent,” she said, “you man without shame, who first fly at the
+throat of your new-wedded wife and then insult her by saying that you
+wish you were wedded to another woman. Be silent, or I will unlock the
+door and call your own people and repeat your monstrous talk to them.”
+And she drew herself to her full height and stood over him on the bed.
+
+Morella, his first rage spent, looked at her reflectively, and not
+without a certain measure of homage.
+
+“I think,” he remarked, “that if he did not happen to be in love with
+another woman and to believe that he had married her, you, my good
+Betty, would make a useful wife to any man who wished to get on in the
+world. I understood you to say that the door is locked, and if I might
+hazard a guess, you have the key, as also you happen to have a dagger.
+Well, I find the air in this place close, and I want to go out.”
+
+“Where to?” asked Betty.
+
+“Let us say, to join Inez.”
+
+“What,” she asked, “would you already be running after that woman
+again? Do you already forget that you are married?”
+
+“It seems that I am not to be allowed to forget it. Now, let us
+bargain. I wish to leave Granada for a while, and without scandal. What
+are your terms? Remember that there are two to which I will not
+consent. I will not stop here with you, and you shall not accompany me.
+Remember also, that, although you hold the dagger at present, it is not
+wise of you to try to push this jest too far.”
+
+“As you did when you decoyed me on board the San Antonio,” said Betty.
+“Well, our honeymoon has not begun too sweetly, and I do not mind if
+you go away for a while—to look for Inez. Swear now that you mean me no
+harm, and that you will not plot my death or disgrace, or in any way
+interfere with my liberty or position here in Granada. Swear it on the
+Rood.” And she took down a silver crucifix that hung upon the wall over
+the bed and handed it to him. For she knew Morella’s superstitions, and
+that if once he swore upon this symbol he dare not break his oath.
+
+“And if I will not swear?” he asked sullenly.
+
+“Then,” she answered, “you stop here until you do, you who are anxious
+to be gone. I have eaten food this morning, you have not; I have a
+dagger, you have none; and, being as we are, I am sure that no one will
+venture to disturb us until Inez and your friend the priest have gone
+further than you can follow.”
+
+“Very well, I will swear,” he said, and he kissed the crucifix and
+threw it down, “You can stop here and rule my house in Granada, and I
+will do you no mischief, nor trouble you in any way. But if you come
+out of Granada, then we cross swords.”
+
+“You mean that you intend to leave this city? Then, here is paper and
+ink. Be so good as to sign an order to the stewards of your estates,
+within the territories of the Moorish king, to pay all their revenue to
+me during your absence, and to your servants to obey me in everything.”
+
+“It is easy to see that you were brought up in the house of a Jew
+merchant,” said Morella, biting the pen and considering this woman who,
+whether she were hawk or pigeon, knew so well how to feather her nest.
+“Well, if I grant you this position and these revenues, will you leave
+me alone and cease to press other claims upon me?”
+
+Now Betty, bethinking her of those papers that Inez had carried away
+with her, and that Castell and Margaret would know well how to use them
+if there were need, bethinking her also that if she pushed him too far
+at the beginning she might die suddenly as folk sometimes did in
+Granada, answered:
+
+“It is much to ask of a deluded woman, but I still have some pride, and
+will not thrust myself in where it seems I am not wanted. Therefore, so
+be it. Till you seek me or send for me, I will not seek you so long as
+you keep your bargain. Now write the paper, sign it, and call in your
+secretaries to witness the signature.”
+
+“In whose favour must I word it?” he asked.
+
+“In that of the Marquessa of Morella,” she answered, and he, seeing a
+loophole in the words, obeyed her, since if she were not his wife this
+writing would have no value.
+
+Somehow he must be rid of this woman. Of course he might cause her to
+be killed; but even in Granada people could not kill one to whom they
+had seemed to be just married without questions being asked. Moreover,
+Betty had friends, and he had enemies who would certainly ask them if
+she vanished away. No, he would sign the paper and fight the case
+afterwards, for he had no time to lose. Margaret had slipped away from
+him, and if once she escaped from Spain he knew that he would never see
+her more. For aught he knew, she might already have escaped or be
+married to Peter Brome. The very thought of it filled him with madness.
+There had been a conspiracy against him; he was outwitted, robbed,
+befooled. Well, hope still remained—and vengeance. He could still fight
+Peter, and perhaps kill him. He could hand over Castell, the Jew, to
+the Inquisition. He could find a way to deal with the priest Henriques
+and the woman Inez, and, perhaps, if fortune favoured him he could get
+Margaret back into his power.
+
+Oh! yes, he would sign anything if only thereby he was set at liberty
+and freed for a while from this servant who called herself his wife,
+this strong-minded, strong-bodied, clever Englishwoman, of whom he had
+thought to make a tool, and who had made a tool of him.
+
+So Betty dictated and he wrote: yes, it had come to this—she dictated
+and he wrote, and signed too. The order was comprehensive. It gave
+power to the most honourable Marquessa of Morella to act for him, her
+husband, in all things during his absence from Granada. It commanded
+that all rents and profits due to him should be paid to her, and that
+all his servants and dependants should obey her as though she were
+himself, and that her receipt should be as good as his receipt.
+
+When the paper was written, and Betty had spelt it over carefully to
+see that there was no omission or mistake, she unlocked the door,
+struck upon the gong, and summoned the secretaries to witness their
+lord’s signature to a settlement. Presently they came, bowing, and
+offering many felicitations, which to himself Morella vowed he would
+remember against them.
+
+“I have to go a journey,” he said. “Witness my signature to this
+document, which provides for the carrying on of my household and the
+disposal of my property during my absence.”
+
+They stared and bowed.
+
+“Read it aloud first,” said Betty, “so that my lord and husband may be
+sure that there is no mistake.”
+
+One of them obeyed, but before ever he had finished the furious Morella
+shouted to them from the bed:
+
+“Have done and witness, then go, order me horses and an escort, for I
+ride at once.”
+
+So they witnessed in a great hurry, and left the room. Betty left with
+them, holding the paper in her hand, and when she reached the large
+hall where the household were gathered waiting to greet their lord, she
+commanded one of the secretaries to read it out to all of them, also to
+translate it into the Moorish tongue that every one might understand.
+Then she hid it away with the marriage lines, and, seating herself in
+the midst of the household, ordered them to prepare to receive the most
+noble marquis.
+
+They had not long to wait, for presently he came out of the room like a
+bull into the arena, whereon Betty rose and curtseyed to him, and at
+her word all his servants bowed themselves down in the Eastern fashion.
+For a moment he paused, again like the bull when he sees the picadors
+and is about to charge. Then he thought better of it, and, with a
+muttered curse, strode past them.
+
+Ten minutes later, for the third time within twenty-four hours, horses
+galloped from the palace and through the Seville gate.
+
+“Friends,” said Betty in her awkward Spanish, when she knew that he had
+gone, “a sad thing has happened to my husband, the marquis. The woman
+Inez, whom it seems he trusted very much, has departed, stealing a
+treasure that he valued above everything on earth, and so I, his
+new-made wife, am left desolate while he tries to find her.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+ISABELLA OF SPAIN.
+
+
+On the afternoon following his first visit, Castell’s agent, Bernaldez,
+arrived again at the prison of the Hermandad at Seville accompanied by
+a tailor, a woman, and a chest full of clothes. The governor ordered
+these two persons to wait while the garments were searched under his
+own eye, but Bernaldez he permitted to be led at once to the prisoners.
+As soon as he was with them he said:
+
+“Your marquis has been married fast enough.”
+
+“How do you know that?” asked Castell.
+
+“From the woman Inez, who arrived with the priest last night, and gave
+me the certificates of his union with Betty Dene signed by himself. I
+have not brought them with me lest I should be searched, when they
+might have been taken away; but Inez has come disguised as a
+sempstress, so show no surprise when you see her, if she is admitted.
+Perhaps she will be able to tell the Dona Margaret something of what
+passed if she is allowed to fit her robes alone. After that she must
+lie hidden for fear of the vengeance of Morella; but I shall know where
+to put my hand upon her if she is wanted. You will all of you be
+brought before the queen to-morrow, and then I, who shall be there,
+will produce the writings.” Scarcely were the words out of his mouth
+when the governor appeared, and with him the tailor and Inez, who
+curtseyed and glanced at Margaret out of the corners of her soft eyes,
+looking at them all as though with curiosity, like one who had never
+seen or heard of them before.
+
+When the dresses had been produced, Margaret asked whether she might be
+allowed to try them on with the woman in her own chamber, as she had
+not been measured for them.
+
+The governor answered that as both the sempstress and the robes had
+been searched, there was no objection, so the two of them retired—Inez,
+with her arms full of garments.
+
+“Tell me all about it,” whispered Margaret as soon as the door was
+closed. “I die to hear your story.”
+
+So, while she fitted the clothes, since in that place they could never
+be sure but that they were watched through some secret loophole, Inez,
+with her mouth full of aloe thorns, which those of the trade used as
+pins, told her everything down to the time of her escape from Granada.
+When she came to that part of the tale where the false bride had lifted
+her veil and kissed the bridegroom, Margaret gasped in her amaze.
+
+“Oh! how could she do it?” she said, “I should have fainted first.”
+
+“She has a good courage, that Betty—turn to the light, please, Señora—I
+could not have acted better myself—I think it is a little high on the
+left shoulder. He never guessed a thing, the besotted fool, and that
+was before I gave him the wine, for he wasn’t likely to guess much
+afterwards. Did the señora say it was tight under the arm? Well,
+perhaps a little, but this stuff stretches. What I want to know is,
+what happened afterwards? Your cousin is the bull that I put my money
+on: I believe she will clear the ring. A woman with a nerve of steel;
+had I as much I should have been the Marchioness of Morella long ago,
+or there would be another marquis by now. There, the sit of the skirt
+is perfect; the señora’s beautiful figure looks more beautiful in it
+than ever. Well, whoever lives will learn all about it, and it is no
+use worrying. Meanwhile, Bernaldez has paid me the money—and a handsome
+sum too—so you needn’t thank me. I only worked for hire—and hate. Now I
+am going to lie low, as I don’t want to get my throat cut, but he can
+find me if I am really needed.
+
+“The priest? Oh, he is safe enough. We made him sign a receipt for his
+cash. Also, I believe that he has got his post as a secretary to the
+Inquisition, and began his duties at once as they were short-handed,
+torturing Jews and heretics, you know, and stealing their goods, both
+of which occupations will exactly suit him. I rode with him all the way
+to Seville, and he tried to make love to me, the slimy knave, but I
+paid him out,” and Inez smiled at some pleasant recollection. “Still, I
+did not quarrel with him outright, as he may come in useful. Who knows?
+There’s the governor calling me. One moment, Excellency, only one
+moment!
+
+“Yes, Señora, with those few alterations the dress will be perfect. You
+shall have it back tonight without fail, and I can cut the others that
+you have been pleased to order from the same pattern. Oh! I thank you,
+Señora, you are too good to a poor girl, and,” in a whisper, “the
+Mother of God have you in her guard, and send that Peter has improved
+in his love making!” and, half hidden in garments, Inez bowed herself
+out of the room through the door which the governor had already opened.
+
+About nine o’clock on the following morning one of the jailers came to
+summon Margaret and her father to be led before the court. Margaret
+asked anxiously if the Señor Brome was coming too, but the man replied
+that he knew nothing of the Señor Brome, as he was in one of the cells
+for dangerous criminals, which he did not serve.
+
+So forth they went, dressed in their new clothes, which were as fine as
+money could buy, and in the latest Seville fashion, and were conducted
+to the courtyard. Here, to her joy, Margaret saw Peter waiting for them
+under guard, and dressed also in the Christian garments which they had
+begged might be supplied to him at their cost. She sprang to his side,
+none hindering her, and, forgetting her bashfulness, suffered him to
+embrace her before them all, asking him how he had fared since they
+were parted.
+
+“None too well,” answered Peter gloomily, “who did not know if we
+should ever meet again; also, my prison is underground, where but
+little light comes through a grating, and there are rats in it which
+will not let a man sleep, so I must lie awake the most of the night
+thinking of you. But where go we now?”
+
+“To be put upon our trial before the queen, I think. Hold my hand and
+walk close beside me, but do not stare at me so hard. Is aught wrong
+with my dress?”
+
+“Nothing,” answered Peter. “I stare because you look so beautiful in
+it. Could you not have worn a veil? Doubtless there are more marquises
+about this court.”
+
+“Only the Moors wear veils, Peter, and now we are Christians again.
+Listen—I think that none of them understand English. I have seen Inez,
+who asked after you very tenderly—nay, do not blush, it is unseemly in
+a man. Have you seen her also? No—well, she escaped from Granada as she
+planned, and Betty is married to the marquis.”
+
+“It will never hold good,” answered Peter shaking his head, “being but
+a trick, and I fear that she will pay for it, poor woman! Still, she
+gave us a start, though, so far as prisons go, I was better off in
+Granada than in that rat-trap.”
+
+“Yes,” answered Margaret innocently, “you had a garden to walk in
+there, had you not? No, don’t be angry with me. Do you know what Betty
+did?” And she told him of how she had lifted her veil and kissed
+Morella without being discovered.
+
+“That isn’t so wonderful,” said Peter, “since if they are painted up
+young women look very much alike in a half-lit room——”
+
+“Or garden?” suggested Margaret.
+
+“What is wonderful,” went on Peter, scorning to take note of this
+interruption, “is that she could consent to kiss the man at all. The
+double-dealing scoundrel! Has Inez told you how he treated her? The
+very thought of it makes me ill.”
+
+“Well, Peter, he didn’t ask you to kiss him, did he? And as for the
+wrongs of Inez, though doubtless you know more about them than I do, I
+think she has given him an orange for his pomegranate. But look, there
+is the Alcazar in front of us. Is it not a splendid castle? You know,
+it was built by the Moors.”
+
+“I don’t care who it was built by,” said Peter, “and it looks to me
+like any other castle, only larger. All I know about it is that I am to
+be tried there for knocking that ruffian on the head—and that perhaps
+this is the last we shall see of each other, as probably they will send
+me to the galleys, if they don’t do worse.”
+
+“Oh! say no such thing. I never thought of it; it is not possible!”
+answered Margaret, her dark eyes filling with tears.
+
+“Wait till your marquis appears, pleading the case against us, and you
+will see what is or is not possible,” replied Peter with conviction.
+“Still, we have come through some storms, so let us hope for the best.”
+
+At that moment they reached the gate of the Alcazar, which they had
+approached from their prison through gardens of orange-trees, and
+soldiers came up and separated them. Next they were led across a court,
+where many people hurried to and fro, into a great marble-columned room
+glittering with gold, which was called the Hall of Justice. At the far
+end of this place, seated on a throne set upon a richly carpeted dais
+and surrounded by lords and counsellors, sat a magnificently attired
+lady of middle age. She was blue-eyed and red-haired, with a
+fair-skinned, open countenance, but very reserved and quiet in her
+demeanour.
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+A magnificently attired lady of middle age
+
+“The Queen,” muttered the guard, saluting, as did Castell and Peter,
+while Margaret curtseyed.
+
+A case had just been tried, and the queen Isabella, after consultation
+with her assessors, was delivering judgment in few words and a gentle
+voice. As she spoke, her mild blue eyes fell upon Margaret, and, held
+it would seem by her beauty, rested on her till they wandered off to
+the tall form of Peter and the dark, Jewish-looking Castell by him, at
+the sight of whom she frowned a little.
+
+That case was finished, and other suitors stood up in their turn, but
+the queen, waving her hand and still looking at Margaret, bent down and
+asked a question of one of the officers of the court, then gave an
+order, whereon the officer rising, summoned “John Castell, Margaret
+Castell, and Peter Brome, all of England,” to appear at the bar and
+answer to the charge of murder of one Luiz of Basa, a soldier of the
+Holy Hermandad.
+
+At once they were brought forward, and stood in a line in front of the
+dais, while the officer began to read the charge against them.
+
+“Stay, friend,” interposed the queen, “these accused are the subjects
+of our good brother, Henry of England, and may not understand our
+language, though one of them, I think”—and she glanced at Castell—“was
+not born in England, or at any rate of English blood. Ask them if they
+need an interpreter.”
+
+The question was put, and all of them answered that they could speak
+Spanish, though Peter added that he did so but indifferently.
+
+“You are the knight, I think, who is charged with the commission of
+this crime,” said Isabella, looking at him.
+
+“Your Majesty, I am not a knight, only a plain esquire, Peter Brome of
+Dedham in England. My father was a knight, Sir Peter Brome, but he fell
+at my side, fighting for Richard, on Bosworth Field, where I had this
+wound,” and he pointed to the scar upon his face, “but was not knighted
+for my pains.”
+
+Isabella smiled a little, then asked:
+
+“And how came you to Spain, Señor Peter Brome?”
+
+“Your Majesty,” answered Peter, Margaret helping from time to time when
+he did not know the Spanish words, “this lady at my side, the daughter
+of the merchant John Castell who stands by her, is my affianced——”
+
+“Then you have won the love of a very beautiful maiden, Señor,”
+interrupted the queen; “but proceed.”
+
+“She and her cousin, the Señora Dene, were kidnapped in London by one
+who I understand is the nephew of the King Ferdinand, and an envoy to
+the English court, who passed there as the Señor d’Aguilar, but who in
+Spain is the Marquis of Morella.”
+
+“Kidnapped! and by Morella!” exclaimed the queen.
+
+“Yes, your Majesty, cozened on board his ship and kidnapped. The Señor
+Castell and I followed them, and, boarding their vessel, tried to
+rescue them, but were shipwrecked at Motril. The marquis carried them
+away to Granada, whither we followed also, I being sorely hurt in the
+shipwreck. There, in the palace of the marquis, we have lain prisoners
+many weeks, but at length escaped, purposing to come to Seville and
+seek the protection of your Majesties. On the road, while we were
+dressed as Moors, in which garb we compassed our escape, we were
+attacked by men that we thought were bandits, for we had been warned
+against such evil people. One of them rudely molested the Dona
+Margaret, and I cut him down, and by misfortune killed him, for which
+manslaughter I am here before you to-day. Your Majesty, I did not know
+that he was a soldier of the Holy Hermandad, and I pray you pardon my
+offence, which was done in ignorance, fear, and anger, for we are
+willing to pay compensation for this unhappy death.”
+
+Now some in the court exclaimed:
+
+“Well spoken, Englishman!”
+
+Then the queen said:
+
+“If all this tale be true, I am not sure that we should blame you over
+much, Señor Brome; but how know we that it is true? For instance, you
+said that the noble marquis stole two ladies, a deed of which I can
+scarcely think him capable. Where then is the other?”
+
+“I believe,” answered Peter, “that she is now the wife of the Marquis
+of Morella.”
+
+“The wife! Who bears witness that she is the wife? He has not advised
+us that he was about to marry, as is usual.”
+
+Then Bernaldez stood forward, stating his name and occupation, and that
+he was a correspondent of the English merchant, John Castell, and
+producing the certificate of marriage signed by Morella, Betty, and the
+priest Henriques, handed it up to the queen saying that he had received
+them in duplicate by a messenger from Granada, and had delivered the
+other to the Archbishop of Seville.
+
+The queen, having looked at the paper, passed it to her assessors, who
+examined it very carefully, one of them saying that the form was not
+usual, and that it might be forged.
+
+The queen thought a little while, then said:
+
+“That is so, and in one way only can we know the truth. Let our warrant
+issue summoning before us our cousin, the noble Marquis of Morella, the
+Señora Dene, who is said to be his wife, and the priest Henriques of
+Motril, who is said to have married them. When they have arrived, all
+of them, the king my husband and I will examine into the matter, and,
+until then, we will not suffer our minds to be prejudiced by hearing
+any more of this cause.”
+
+Now the governor of the prison stood forward, and asked what was to be
+done with the captives until the witnesses could be brought from
+Granada. The queen answered that they must remain in his charge, and be
+well treated, whereon Peter prayed that he might be given a better cell
+with fewer rats and more light. The queen smiled, and said that it
+should be so, but added that it would be proper that he should still be
+kept apart from the lady to whom he was affianced, who could dwell with
+her father. Then, noting the sadness on their faces, she added:
+
+“Yet I think they may meet daily in the garden of the prison.”
+
+Margaret curtseyed and thanked her, whereon she said very graciously:
+
+“Come here, Señora, and sit by me a little,” and she pointed to a
+footstool at her side. “When I have done this business I desire a few
+words with you.”
+
+So Margaret was brought up upon the dais, and sat down at her Majesty’s
+left hand upon the broidered footstool, and very fair indeed she looked
+placed thus above the crowd, she whose beauty and whose bearing were so
+royal; but Castell and Peter were led away back to the prison, though,
+seeing so many gay lords about, the latter went unwillingly enough. A
+while later, when the cases were finished, the queen dismissed the
+court save for certain officers, who stood at a distance, and, turning
+to Margaret, said:
+
+“Now, fair maiden, tell me your story, as one woman to another, and do
+not fear that anything you say will be made use of at the trial of your
+lover, since against you, at any rate at present, no charge is laid.
+Say, first, are you really the affianced of that tall gentleman, and
+has he really your heart?”
+
+“All of it, your Majesty,” answered Margaret, “and we have suffered
+much for each other’s sake.” Then in as few words as she could she told
+their tale, while the queen listened earnestly.
+
+“A strange story indeed, and if it be all true, a shameful,” she said
+when Margaret had finished. “But how comes it that if Morella desired
+to force you into marriage, he is now wed to your companion and cousin?
+What are you keeping back from me?” and she glanced at her shrewdly.
+
+“Your Majesty,” answered Margaret, “I was ashamed to speak the rest,
+yet I will trust you and do so, praying your royal forgiveness if you
+hold that we, who were in desperate straits, have done what is wrong.
+My cousin, Betty Dene, has paid back Morella in his own false gold. He
+won her heart and promised to marry her, and at the risk of her own
+life she took my place at the altar, thereby securing our escape.”
+
+“A brave deed, if a doubtful,” said the queen, “though I question
+whether such a marriage will be upheld. But that is a matter for the
+Church to judge of, and I must speak of it no more. Certainly it is
+hard to be angry with any of you. What did you say that Morella
+promised you when he asked you to marry him in London?”
+
+“Your Majesty, he promised that he would lift me high, perhaps
+even”—and she hesitated—“to that seat in which you sit.”
+
+Isabella frowned, then laughed, and said, as she looked her up and
+down:
+
+“You would fit it well, better than I do in truth. But what else did he
+say?”
+
+“Your Majesty, he said that not every one loves the king, his uncle;
+that he had many friends who remembered that his father was poisoned by
+the father of the king, who was Morella’s grandfather; also, that his
+mother was a princess of the Moors, and that he might throw in his lot
+with theirs, or that there were other ways in which he could gain his
+end.”
+
+“So, so,” said the queen. “Well, though he is such a good son of the
+Church, and my lord is so fond of him, I never loved Morella, and I
+thank you for your warning. But I must not speak to you of such high
+matters, though it seems that some have thought otherwise. Fair
+Margaret, have you aught to ask of me?”
+
+“Yes, your Majesty—that you will deal gently with my true love when he
+comes before you for trial, remembering that he is hot of head and
+strong of arm, and that such knights as he—for knightly is his blood—
+cannot brook to see their ladies mishandled by rough men, and the
+wrappings that shield them torn from off their bosoms. Also, I pray
+that I may be protected from Morella, that he may not be allowed to
+touch or even to speak to me, who, for all his rank and splendour, hate
+him as though he were some poisoned snake.”
+
+“I have said that I must not prejudge your case, you beautiful English
+Margaret,” the queen answered with a smile, “yet I think that neither
+of those things you ask will cause justice to slip the bandage that is
+about her eyes. Go, and be at peace. If you have spoken truth to me, as
+I am sure you have, and Isabella of Spain can prevent it, the Señor
+Brome’s punishment shall not be heavy, nor shall the shadow of the
+Marquis of Morella, the base-born son of a prince and of some royal
+infidel”—these words she spoke with much bitterness—“so much as fall
+upon you, though I warn you that my lord the king loves the man, as is
+but natural, and will not condemn him lightly. Tell me one thing. This
+lover of yours is brave, is he not?”
+
+“Very brave,” answered Margaret, smiling.
+
+“And he can ride a horse and hold a lance, can he not, at any rate in
+your quarrel?”
+
+“Aye, your Majesty, and wield a sword too, as well as most knights,
+though he has been but lately sick. Some learned that on Bosworth
+Field.”
+
+“Good. Now farewell,” and she gave Margaret her hand to kiss. Then,
+calling two of her officers, she bade them conduct her back to the
+prison, and say that she should have liberty to send messages or to
+write to her, the queen, if she should so desire.
+
+On the night of that same day Morella galloped into Seville. Indeed he
+should have been there long before, but misled by the story of the
+Moors who had escorted Peter, Margaret, and her father out of Granada
+and seen them take the Malaga road, he travelled thither first, only to
+find no trace of them in that city. Then he returned and tracked them
+to Seville, where he was soon made acquainted with all that had
+happened. Amongst other things, he discovered that ten hours before
+swift messengers had been despatched to Granada, commanding his
+attendance and that of Betty, with whom he had gone through the form of
+marriage.
+
+On the following morning he asked an audience with the queen, but it
+was refused to him, and the king, his uncle, was away. Next he tried to
+win admission into the prison and see Margaret, only to find that
+neither his high rank and authority nor any bribe would suffice to
+unlock its doors. The queen had commanded otherwise, he was informed,
+and knew therefrom that in this matter he must reckon with Isabella as
+an enemy. Then he bethought him of revenge, and began a search for Inez
+and the priest Henriques of Motril, only to find that the former had
+vanished, none knew whither, and the holy father was safe within the
+walls of the Inquisition, whence he was careful not to emerge, and
+where no layman, however highly placed, could enter to lay a hand upon
+one of its officers. So, full of rage and disappointment, he took
+counsel of lawyers and friends, and prepared to defend the suit which
+he saw would be brought against him, hoping that chance might yet
+deliver Margaret into his hands. One good card he held, which now he
+determined to play. Castell, as he knew, was a Jew who for years had
+posed as a Christian, and for such there was no mercy in Seville.
+Perhaps for her father’s sake he might yet be able to work upon
+Margaret, whom now he desired to win more fiercely than ever before.
+
+At least it was certain that he would try this, or any other means,
+however base, rather than see her married to his rival, Peter Brome.
+Also there was the chance that this Peter might be condemned to
+imprisonment, or even to death, for the killing of a soldier of the
+Hermandad.
+
+So Morella made him ready for the great struggle as best he could, and,
+since he could not stop her coming, awaited the arrival of Betty in
+Seville.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+BETTY STATES HER CASE.
+
+
+Seven days had passed, during which time Margaret and her father had
+rested quietly in the prison, where, indeed, they dwelt more as guests
+than as captives. Thus they were allowed to receive what visitors they
+would, and among them Juan Bernaldez, Castell’s connection and agent,
+who told them of all that passed without. Through him they sent
+messengers to meet Betty on her road and apprise her of how things
+stood, and of the trial in which her cause would be judged.
+
+Soon the messengers returned, stating that the “Marchioness of Morella”
+was travelling in state, accompanied by a great retinue, that she
+thanked them for their tidings, and hoped to be able to defend herself
+at all points.
+
+At this news Castell stared and Margaret laughed, for, although she did
+not know all the story, she was sure that in some way Betty had the
+mastery of Morella, and would not be easily defeated, though how she
+came to be travelling with a great retinue she could not imagine.
+Still, fearing lest she should be attacked or otherwise injured, she
+wrote a humble letter to the queen, praying that her cousin might be
+defended from all danger at the hands of any one whomsoever until she
+had an opportunity of giving evidence before their Majesties.
+
+Within an hour came the answer that the lady was under the royal
+protection, and that a guard had been sent to escort her and her party
+and to keep her safe from interference of any sort; also, that for her
+greater comfort, quarters had been prepared for her in a fortress
+outside of Seville, which would be watched night and day, and whence
+she would be brought to the court.
+
+Peter was still kept apart from them, but each day at noon they were
+allowed to meet him in the walled garden of the prison, where they
+talked together to their heart’s content. Here, too, he exercised
+himself daily at all manly games, and especially at sword-play with
+some of the other prisoners, using sticks for swords. Further, he was
+allowed the use of his horse that he had ridden from Granada, on which
+he jousted in the yard of the castle with the governor and certain
+other gentlemen, proving himself better at that play than any of them.
+These things he did vigorously and with ardour, for Margaret had told
+him of the hint which the queen gave her, and he desired to get back
+his full strength, and to perfect himself in the handling of every arm
+which was used in Spain.
+
+So the time went by, until one afternoon the governor informed them
+that Peter’s trial was fixed for the morrow, and that they must
+accompany him to the court to be examined also upon all these matters.
+A little later came Bernaldez, who said that the king had returned and
+would sit with the queen, and that already this affair had made much
+stir in Seville, where there was much curiosity as to the story of
+Morella’s marriage, of which many different tales were told. That
+Margaret and her father would be discharged he had little doubt, in
+which case their ship was ready for them; but of Peter’s chances he
+could say nothing, for they depended upon what view the king took of
+his offence, and, though unacknowledged, Morella was the king’s nephew
+and had his ear.
+
+Afterwards they went down into the garden, and there found Peter, who
+had just returned from his jousting, flushed with exercise, and looking
+very manly and handsome. Margaret took his hand and, walking aside,
+told him the news.
+
+“I am glad,” he answered, “for the sooner this business is begun the
+sooner it will be done. But, Sweet,” and here his face grew very
+earnest, “Morella has much power in this land, and I have broken its
+law, so none know what the end will be. I may be condemned to death or
+imprisoned, or perhaps, if I am given the chance, with better luck I
+may fall fighting, in any of which cases we shall be separated for a
+while, or altogether. Should this be so, I pray that you will not stay
+here, either in the hope of rescuing me, or for other reasons; since,
+while you are in Spain, Morella will not cease from his attempts to get
+hold of you, whereas in England you will be safe from him.”
+
+When Margaret heard these words she sobbed aloud, for the thought that
+harm might come to Peter seemed to choke her.
+
+“In all things I will do your bidding,” she said, “yet how can I leave
+you, dear, while you are alive, and if, perchance, you should die,
+which may God prevent, how can I live on without you? Rather shall I
+seek to follow you very swiftly.”
+
+“I do not desire that,” said Peter. “I desire that you should endure
+your days till the end, and come to meet me where I am in due season,
+and not before. I will add this, that if in after-years you should meet
+any worthy man, and have a mind to marry him, you should do so, for I
+know well that you will never forget me, your first love, and that
+beyond this world lie others where there are no marryings or giving in
+marriage. Let not my dead hand lie heavy upon you, Margaret.”
+
+“Yet,” she replied in gentle indignation, “heavy must it always lie,
+since it is about my heart. Be sure of this, Peter, that if such
+dreadful ill should fall upon us, as you left me so shall you find me,
+here or hereafter.”
+
+“So be it,” he said with a sigh of relief, for he could not bear to
+think of Margaret as the wife of some other man, even after he was
+gone, although his honest, simple nature, and fear lest her life might
+be made empty of all joy, caused him to say what he had said.
+
+Then behind the shelter of a flowering bush they embraced each other as
+do those who know not whether they will ever kiss again, and, the hour
+of sunset having come, parted as they must.
+
+On the following morning once more Castell and Margaret were led to the
+Hall of Justice in the Alcazar; but this time Peter did not go with
+them. The great court was already full of counsellors, officers,
+gentlemen, and ladies who had come from curiosity, and other folk
+connected with or interested in the case. As yet, however, Margaret
+could not see Morella or Betty, nor had the king and queen taken their
+seats upon the throne. Peter was already there, standing before the bar
+with guards on either side of him, and greeted them with a smile and a
+nod as they were ushered to their chairs near by. Just as they reached
+them also trumpets were blown, and from the back of the hall, walking
+hand in hand, appeared their Majesties of Spain, Ferdinand and
+Isabella, whereat all the audience rose and bowed, remaining standing
+till they were seated on the thrones.
+
+The king, whom they now saw for the first time, was a thickset, active
+man with pleasant eyes, a fair skin, and a broad forehead, but, as
+Margaret thought, somewhat sly-faced—the face of a man who never forgot
+his own interests in those of another. Like the queen, he was
+magnificently attired in garments broidered with gold and the arms of
+Aragon, while in his hand he held a golden sceptre surmounted by a
+jewel, and about his waist, to show that he was a warlike king, he wore
+his long, cross-handled sword. Smilingly he acknowledged the homage of
+his subjects by lifting his hand to his cap and bowing. Then his eye
+fell upon the beautiful Margaret, and, turning, he put a question to
+the queen in a light, sharp voice, asking if that were the lady whom
+Morella had married, and, if so, why in the name of heaven he wished to
+be rid of her.
+
+Isabella answered that she understood that this was the señora whom he
+had desired to marry when he married some one else, as he alleged by
+mistake, but who was in fact affianced to the prisoner before them; a
+reply at which all who heard it laughed.
+
+At this moment the Marquis of Morella, accompanied by his gentlemen and
+some long-gowned lawyers, appeared walking up the court, dressed in the
+black velvet that he always wore, and glittering with orders. Upon his
+head was a cap, also of black velvet, from which hung a great pearl,
+and this cap he did not remove even when he bowed to the king and
+queen, for he was one of the few grandees of Spain who had the right to
+remain covered before their Majesties. They acknowledged his
+salutation, Ferdinand with a friendly nod and Isabella with a cold bow,
+and he, too, took the seat that had been prepared for him. Just then
+there was a disturbance at the far end of the court, where one of its
+officers could be heard calling:
+
+“Way! Make way for the Marchioness of Morella!”
+
+At the sound of this name the marquis, whose eyes were fixed on
+Margaret, frowned fiercely, rising from his seat as though to protest,
+then, at some whispered word from a lawyer behind him, sat down again.
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+“Way! Make way for the Marchioness of Morella!”
+
+Now the crowd of spectators separated, and Margaret, turning to look
+down the long hall, saw a procession advancing up the lane between
+them, some clad in armour and some in white Moorish robes blazoned with
+the scarlet eagle, the cognisance of Morella. In the midst of them, her
+train supported by two Moorish women, walked a tall and beautiful lady,
+a coronet upon her brow, her fair hair outspread, a purple cloak
+hanging from her shoulders, half hiding that same splendid robe sewn
+with pearls which had been Morella’s gift to Margaret, and about her
+white bosom the chain of pearls which he had presented to Betty in
+compensation for her injuries.
+
+Margaret stared and stared again, and her father at her side murmured:
+
+“It is our Betty! Truly fine feathers make fine birds.” Yes, Betty it
+was without a doubt, though, remembering her in her humble woollen
+dress at the old house in Holborn, it was hard to recognise the poor
+companion in this proud and magnificent lady, who looked as though all
+her life she had trodden the marble floors of courts, and consorted
+with nobles and with queens. Up the great hall she came, stately,
+imperturbable, looking neither to the right nor to the left, taking no
+note of the whisperings about her, no, nor even of Morella or of
+Margaret, till she reached the open space in front of the bar where
+Peter and his guards, gazing with all their eyes, hastened to make
+place for her. There she curtseyed thrice, twice to the queen, and once
+to the king, her consort; then, turning, bowed to the marquis, who
+fixed his eyes upon the ground and took no note, bowed to Castell and
+Peter, and lastly, advancing to Margaret, gave her her cheek to kiss.
+This Margaret did with becoming humility, whispering in her ear:
+
+“How fares your Grace?”
+
+“Better than you would in my shoes,” whispered Betty back with ever so
+slight a trembling of her left eyelid; while Margaret heard the king
+mutter to the queen:
+
+“A fine peacock of a woman. Look at her figure and those big eyes.
+Morella must be hard to please.”
+
+“Perhaps he prefers swans to peacocks,” answered the queen in the same
+voice with a glance at Margaret, whose quieter and more refined beauty
+seemed to gain by contrast with that of her nobly built and
+dazzling-skinned cousin. Then she motioned to Betty to take the seat
+prepared for her, which she did, with her suite standing behind her and
+an interpreter at her side.
+
+“I am somewhat bewildered,” said the king, glancing from Morella to
+Betty and from Margaret to Peter, for evidently the humour of the
+situation did not escape him. “What is the exact case that we have to
+try?”
+
+Then one of the legal assessors, or alcaldes, rose and said that the
+matter before their Majesties was a charge against the Englishman at
+the bar of killing a certain soldier of the Holy Hermandad, but that
+there seemed to be other matters mixed up with it.
+
+“So I gather,” answered the king; “for instance, an accusation of the
+carrying off of subjects of a friendly Power out of the territory of
+that Power; a suit for nullity of a marriage, and a cross-suit for the
+declaration of the validity of the said marriage—and the holy saints
+know what besides. Well, one thing at a time. Let us try this tall
+Englishman.”
+
+So the case was opened against Peter by a public prosecutor, who
+restated it as it had been laid before the queen. The Captain Arrano
+gave his evidence as to the killing of the soldier, but, in
+cross-examination by Peter’s advocate, admitted, for evidently he bore
+no malice against the prisoner, that the said soldier had roughly
+handled the Dona Margaret, and that the said Peter, being a stranger to
+the country, might very well have taken them for a troop of bandits or
+even Moors. Also, he added, that he could not say that the Englishman
+had intended to kill the soldier.
+
+Then Castell and Margaret gave their evidence, the latter with much
+modest sweetness. Indeed, when she explained that Peter was her
+affianced husband, to whom she was to have been wed on the day after
+she had been stolen away from England, and that she had cried out to
+him for help when the dead soldier caught hold of her and rent away her
+veil, there was a murmur of sympathy, and the king and queen began to
+talk with each other without paying much heed to her further words.
+
+Next they spoke to two of the judges who sat with them, after which the
+king held up his hand and announced that they had come to a decision on
+the case. It was, that, under the circumstances, the Englishman was
+justified in cutting down the soldier, especially as there was nothing
+to show that he meant to kill him, or that he knew that he belonged to
+the Holy Hermandad. He would, therefore, be discharged on the condition
+that he paid a sum of money, which, indeed, it appeared had already
+been paid to the man’s widow, in compensation for the man’s death, and
+a further small sum for Masses to be said for the welfare of his soul.
+
+Peter began to give thanks for this judgment; but while he was still
+speaking the king asked if any of those present wished to proceed in
+further suits. Instantly Betty rose and said that she did. Then,
+through her interpreter, she stated that she had received the royal
+commands to attend before their Majesties, and was now prepared to
+answer any questions or charges that might be laid against her.
+
+“What is your name, Señora?” asked the king.
+
+“Elizabeth, Marchioness of Morella, born Elizabeth Dene, of the ancient
+and gentle family of Dene, a native of England,” answered Betty in a
+clear and decided voice.
+
+The king bowed, then asked:
+
+“Does any one dispute this title and description?”
+
+“I do,” answered the Marquis of Morella, speaking for the first time.
+
+“On what grounds, Marquis?”
+
+“On every ground,” he answered. “She is not the Marchioness of Morella,
+inasmuch as I went through the ceremony of marriage with her believing
+her to be another woman. She is not of ancient and gentle family, since
+she was a servant in the house of the merchant Castell yonder, in
+London.”
+
+“That proves nothing, Marquis,” interrupted the king. “My family may, I
+think, be called ancient and gentle, which you will be the last to
+deny, yet I have played the part of a servant on an occasion which I
+think the queen here will remember”—an allusion at which the audience,
+who knew well enough to what it referred, laughed audibly, as did her
+Majesty [1]. “The marriage and rank are matters for proof,” went on the
+king, “if they are questioned; but is it alleged that this lady has
+committed any crime which prevents her from pleading?”
+
+[1]When travelling from Saragossa to Valladolid to be married to
+Isabella, Ferdinand was obliged to pass himself off as a valet.
+Prescott says: “The greatest circumspection, therefore, was necessary.
+The party journeyed chiefly in the night; Ferdinand assumed the
+disguise of a servant and, when they halted on the road, took care of
+the mules and served his companions at table.”
+
+“None,” answered Betty quickly, “except that of being poor, and the
+crime, if it is one, as it may be, of having married that man, the
+Marquis of Morella,” whereat the audience laughed again.
+
+“Well, Madam, you do not seem to be poor now,” remarked the king,
+looking at her gorgeous and bejewelled apparel; “and here we are more
+apt to think marriage a folly than a crime,” a light saying at which
+the queen frowned a little. “But,” he added quickly, “set out your
+case, Madam, and forgive me if, until you have done so, I do not call
+you Marchioness.”
+
+“Here is my case, Sire,” said Betty, producing the certificate of
+marriage and handing it up for inspection.
+
+The judges and their Majesties inspected it, the queen remarking that a
+duplicate of this document had already been submitted to her and passed
+on to the proper authorities.
+
+“Is the priest who solemnised the marriage present?” asked the king;
+whereon Bernaldez, Castell’s agent, rose and said that he was, though
+he neglected to add that his presence had been secured for no mean sum.
+
+One of the judges ordered that he should be called, and presently the
+foxy-faced Father Henriques, at whom the marquis glared angrily,
+appeared bowing, and was sworn in the usual form, and, on being
+questioned, stated that he had been priest at Motril, and chaplain to
+the Marquis of Morella, but was now a secretary of the Holy Office at
+Seville. In answer to further questions he said that, apparently by the
+bridegroom’s own wish, and with his full consent, on a certain date at
+Granada, he had married the marquis to the lady who stood before them,
+and whom he knew to be named Betty Dene; also, that at her request,
+since she was anxious that proper record should be kept of her
+marriage, he had written the certificates which the court had seen,
+which certificates the marquis and others had signed immediately after
+the ceremony in his private chapel at Granada. Subsequently he had left
+Granada to take up his appointment as a secretary to the Inquisition at
+Seville, which had been conferred on him by the ecclesiastical
+authorities in reward of a treatise which he had written upon heresy.
+That was all he knew about the affair.
+
+Now Morella’s advocate rose to cross-examine, asking him who had made
+the arrangements for the marriage. He answered that the marquis had
+never spoken to him directly on the subject—at least he had never
+mentioned to him the name of the lady; the Señora Inez arranged
+everything.
+
+Now the queen broke in, asking where was the Señora Inez, and who she
+was. The priest replied that the Señora Inez was a Spanish woman, one
+of the marquis’s household at Granada, whom he made use of in all
+confidential affairs. She was young and beautiful, but he could say no
+more about her. As to where she was now he did not know, although they
+had ridden together to Seville. Perhaps the marquis knew.
+
+Now the priest was ordered to stand down, and Betty tendered herself as
+a witness, and through her interpreter told the court the story of her
+connection with Morella. She said that she had met him in London when
+she was a member of the household of the Señor Castell, and that at
+once he began to make love to her and won her heart. Subsequently he
+suggested that she should elope with him to Spain, promising to marry
+her at once, in proof of which she produced the letter he had written,
+which was translated and handed up for the inspection of the court—a
+very awkward letter, as they evidently thought, although it was not
+signed with the writer’s real name. Next Betty explained the trick by
+which she and her cousin Margaret were brought on board his ship, and
+that when they arrived there the marquis refused to marry her, alleging
+that he was in love with her cousin and not with her—a statement which
+she took to be an excuse to avoid the fulfilment of his promise. She
+could not say why he had carried off her cousin Margaret also, but
+supposed that it was because, having once brought her upon the ship, he
+did not know how to be rid of her.
+
+Then she described the voyage to Spain, saying that during that voyage
+she kept the marquis at a distance, since there was no priest to marry
+them; also, she was sick and much ashamed, who had involved her cousin
+and mistress in this trouble. She told how the Señors Castell and Brome
+had followed in another vessel, and boarded the caravel in a storm;
+also of the shipwreck and their journey to Granada as prisoners, and of
+their subsequent life there. Finally she described how Inez came to her
+with proposals of marriage, and how she bargained that if she
+consented, her cousin, the Señor Castell, and the Señor Brome should go
+free. They went accordingly, and the marriage took place as arranged,
+the marquis first embracing her publicly in the presence of various
+people—namely, Inez and his two secretaries, who, except Inez, were
+present, and could bear witness to the truth of what she said.
+
+After the marriage and the signing of the certificates she had
+accompanied him to his own apartments, which she had never entered
+before, and there, to her astonishment, in the morning, he announced
+that he must go a journey upon their Majesties’ business. Before he
+went, however, he gave her a written authority, which she produced, to
+receive his rents and manage his matters in Granada during his absence,
+which authority she read to the gathered household before he left. She
+had obeyed him accordingly until she had received the royal command,
+receiving moneys, giving her receipt for the same, and generally
+occupying the unquestioned position of mistress of his house.
+
+“We can well believe it,” said the king drily. “And now, Marquis, what
+have you to answer to all this?”
+
+“I will answer presently,” replied Morella, who trembled with rage.
+“First suffer that my advocate cross-examine this woman.”
+
+So the advocate cross-examined, though it cannot be said that he had
+the better of Betty. First he questioned her as to her statement that
+she was of ancient and gentle family, whereon Betty overwhelmed the
+court with a list of her ancestors, the first of whom, a certain Sieur
+Dene de Dene, had come to England with the Norman Duke, William the
+Conqueror. After him, so she still swore, the said Denes de Dene had
+risen to great rank and power, having been the favourites of the kings
+of England, and fought for them generation after generation.
+
+By slow degrees she came down to the Wars of the Roses, in which she
+said her grandfather had been attainted for his loyalty, and lost his
+land and titles, so that her father, whose only child she was—being now
+the representative of the noble family, Dene de Dene—fell into poverty
+and a humble place in life. However, he married a lady of even more
+distinguished race than his own, a direct descendant of a noble Saxon
+family, far more ancient in blood than the upstart Normans. At this
+point, while Peter and Margaret listened amazed, at a hint from the
+queen, the bewildered court interfered through the head alcalde,
+praying her to cease from the history of her descent, which they took
+for granted was as noble as any in England.
+
+Next she was examined as to her relations with Morella in London, and
+told the tale of his wooing with so much detail and imaginative power
+that in the end that also was left unfinished. So it was with
+everything. Clever as Morella’s advocate might be, sometimes in English
+and sometimes in the Spanish tongue, Betty overwhelmed him with words
+and apt answers, until, able to make nothing of her, the poor man sat
+down wiping his brow and cursing her beneath his breath.
+
+Then the secretaries were sworn, and after them various members of
+Morella’s household, who, although somewhat unwillingly, confirmed all
+that Betty had said as to his embracing her with lifted veil and the
+rest. So at length Betty closed her case, reserving the right to
+address the court after she had heard that of the marquis.
+
+Now the king, queen, and their assessors consulted for a little while,
+for evidently there was a division of opinion among them, some thinking
+that the case should be stopped at once and referred to another
+tribunal, and others that it should go on. At length the queen was
+heard to say that at least the Marquis of Morella should be allowed to
+make his statement, as he might be able to prove that all this story
+was a fabrication, and that he was not even at Granada at the time when
+the marriage was alleged to have taken place.
+
+The king and the alcaldes assenting, the marquis was sworn and told his
+story, admitting that it was not one which he was proud to repeat in
+public. He narrated how he had first met Margaret, Betty, and Peter at
+a public ceremony in London, and had then and there fallen in love with
+Margaret, and accompanied her home to the house of her father, the
+merchant John Castell.
+
+Subsequently he discovered that this Castell, who had fled from Spain
+with his father in childhood, was that lowest of mankind, an
+unconverted Jew who posed as a Christian (at this statement there was a
+great sensation in court, and the queen’s face hardened), although it
+is true that he had married a Christian lady, and that his daughter had
+been baptized and brought up as a Christian, of which faith she was a
+loyal member. Nor did she know—as he believed—that her father remained
+a Jew, since, otherwise, he would not have continued to seek her as his
+wife. Their Majesties would be aware, he went on, that, owing to
+reasons with which they were acquainted, he had means of getting at the
+truth of these matters concerning the Jews in England, as to which,
+indeed, he had already written to them, although, owing to his
+shipwreck and to the pressure of his private affairs, he had not yet
+made his report on his embassy in person.
+
+Continuing, he said that he admitted that he had made love to the
+serving-woman, Betty, in order to gain access to Margaret, whose father
+mistrusted him, knowing something of his mission. She was a person of
+no character.
+
+Here Betty rose and said in a clear voice:
+
+“I declare the Marquis of Morella to be a knave and a liar. There is
+more good character in my little finger than in his whole body, and,”
+she added, “than in that of his mother before him”—an allusion at which
+the marquis flushed, while, satisfied for the present with this
+home-thrust, Betty sat down.
+
+He had proposed to Margaret, but she was not willing to marry him, as
+he found that she was affianced to a distant cousin of hers, the Señor
+Peter Brome, a swashbuckler who was in trouble for the killing of a man
+in London, as he had killed the soldier of the Holy Hermandad in Spain.
+Therefore, in his despair, being deeply enamoured of her, and knowing
+that he could offer her great place and fortune, he conceived the idea
+of carrying her off, and to do so was obliged, much against his will,
+to abduct Betty also.
+
+So after many adventures they came to Granada, where he was able to
+show the Dona Margaret that the Señor Peter Brome was employing his
+imprisonment in making love to that member of his household, Inez, who
+had been spoken of, but now could not be found.
+
+Here Peter, who could bear this no longer, also rose and called him a
+liar to his face, saying that if he had the opportunity he would prove
+it on his body, but was ordered by the king to sit down and be silent.
+
+Having been convinced of her lover’s unfaithfulness, the marquis went
+on, the Dona Margaret had at length consented to become his wife on
+condition that her father, the Señor Brome, and her servant, Betty
+Dene, were allowed to escape from Granada——
+
+“Where,” remarked the queen, “you had no right to detain them, Marquis.
+Except, perhaps, the father, John Castell,” she added significantly.
+
+Where, he admitted with sorrow, he had no right to detain them.
+
+“Therefore,” went on the queen acutely, “there was no legal or moral
+consideration for this alleged promise of marriage,”—a point at which
+the lawyers nodded approvingly.
+
+The marquis submitted that there was a consideration; that at any rate
+the Dona Margaret wished it. On the day arranged for the wedding the
+prisoners were let go, disguised as Moors, but he now knew that through
+the trickery of the woman Inez, whom he believed had been bribed by
+Castell and his fellow-Jews, the Dona Margaret escaped in place of her
+servant, Betty, with whom he subsequently went through the form of
+marriage, believing her to be Margaret.
+
+As regards the embrace before the ceremony, it took place in a shadowed
+room, and he thought that Betty’s face and hair must have been painted
+and dyed to resemble those of Margaret. For the rest, he was certain
+that the ceremonial cup of wine that he drank before he led the woman
+to the altar was drugged, since he only remembered the marriage itself
+very dimly, and after that nothing at all until he woke upon the
+following morning with an aching brow to see Betty sitting by him. As
+for the power of administration which she produced, being perfectly mad
+at the time with rage and disappointment, and sure that if he stopped
+there any longer he should commit the crime of killing this woman who
+had deceived him so cruelly, he gave it that he might escape from her.
+Their Majesties would notice also that it was in favour of the
+Marchioness of Morella. As this marriage was null and void, there was
+no Marchioness of Morella. Therefore, the document was null and void
+also. That was the truth, and all he had to say.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+THE DOOM OF JOHN CASTELL.
+
+
+His evidence finished, the Marquis of Morella sat down, whereon, the
+king and queen having whispered together, the head alcalde asked Betty
+if she had any questions to put to him. She rose with much dignity, and
+through her interpreter said in a quiet voice:
+
+“Yes, a great many. Yet she would not debase herself by asking a single
+one until the stain which he had cast upon her was washed away, which
+she thought could only be done in blood. He had alleged that she was a
+woman of no character, and he had further alleged that their marriage
+was null and void. Being of the sex she was, she could not ask him to
+make good his assertions at the sword’s point, therefore, as she
+believed she had the right to do according to all the laws of honour,
+she asked leave to seek a champion—if an unfriended woman could find
+one in a strange land—to uphold her fair name against this base and
+cruel slander.”
+
+Now, in the silence that followed her speech, Peter rose and said:
+
+“I ask the permission of your Majesties to be that champion. Your
+Majesties will note that according to his own story I have suffered
+from this marquis the bitterest wrong that one man can receive at the
+hands of another. Also, he has lied in saying that I am not true to my
+affianced lady, the Dona Margaret, and surely I have a right to avenge
+the lie upon him. Lastly, I declare that I believe the Señora Betty to
+be a good and upright woman, upon whom no shadow of shame has ever
+fallen, and, as her countryman and relative, I desire to uphold her
+good name before all the world. I am a foreigner here with few friends,
+or none, yet I cannot believe that your Majesties will withhold from me
+the right of battle which all over the world in such a case one
+gentleman may demand of another. I challenge the Marquis of Morella to
+mortal combat without mercy to the fallen, and here is the proof of
+it.”
+
+Then, stepping across the open space before the bar, he drew the
+leathern gauntlet off his hand and threw it straight into Morella’s
+face, thinking that after such an insult he could not choose but fight.
+
+With an oath Morella snatched at his sword; but, before he could draw
+it, officers of the court threw themselves on him, and the king’s stern
+voice was heard commanding them to cease their brawling in the royal
+presences.
+
+“I ask your pardon, Sire,” gasped Morella, “but you have seen what this
+Englishman did to me, a grandee of Spain.”
+
+“Yes,” broke in the queen, “but we have also heard what you, a grandee
+of Spain, did to this gentleman of England, and the charge you brought
+against him, which, it seems, the Dona Margaret does not believe.”
+
+“In truth, no, your Majesty,” said Margaret. “Let me be sworn also, and
+I can explain much of what the marquis has told to you. I never wished
+to marry him or any man, save this one,” and she touched Peter on the
+arm, “and anything that he or I may have done, we did to escape the
+evil net in which we were snared.”
+
+“We believe it,” answered the queen with a smile, then fell to
+consulting with the king and the alcaldes.
+
+For a long time they debated in voices so low that none could hear what
+they said, looking now at one and now at another of the parties to this
+strange suit. Also, some priest was called into their council, which
+Margaret thought a bad omen. At length they made up their minds, and in
+a low, quiet voice and measured words her Majesty, as Queen of Castile,
+gave the judgment of them all. Addressing herself first to Morella, she
+said:
+
+“My lord Marquis, you have brought very grave charges against the lady
+who claims to be your wife, and the Englishman whose affianced bride
+you admit you snatched away by fraud and force. This gentleman, on his
+own behalf and on behalf of these ladies, has challenged you to a
+combat to the death in a fashion that none can mistake. Do you accept
+his challenge?”
+
+“I would accept it readily enough, your Majesty,” answered Morella in
+sullen tones, “since heretofore none have doubted my courage; but I
+must remember that I am”—and he paused, then added—“what your Majesties
+know me to be, a grandee of Spain, and something more, wherefore it is
+scarcely lawful for me to cross swords with a Jew-merchant’s clerk, for
+that was this man’s high rank and office in England.”
+
+“You could cross them with me on your ship, the San Antonio,” exclaimed
+Peter bitterly, “why then are you ashamed to finish what you were not
+ashamed to begin? Moreover, I tell you that in love or war I hold
+myself the equal of any woman-thief and bastard in this kingdom, who am
+one of a name that has been honoured in my own.”
+
+Now again the king and queen spoke together of this question of rank—no
+small one in that age and country. Then Isabella said:
+
+“It is true that a grandee of Spain cannot be asked to meet a simple
+foreign gentleman in single combat. Therefore, since he has thought fit
+to raise it, we uphold the objection of the Marquis of Morella, and
+declare that this challenge is not binding on his honour. Yet we note
+his willingness to accept the same, and are prepared to do what we can
+to make the matter easy, so that it may not be said that a Spaniard,
+who has wrought wrong to an Englishman, and been asked openly to make
+the amend of arms in the presence of his sovereigns, was debarred from
+so doing by the accident of his rank. Señor Peter Brome, if you will
+receive it at our hands, as others of your nation have been proud to
+do, we propose, believing you to be a brave and loyal man of gentle
+birth, to confer upon you the knighthood of the Order of St. James, and
+thereby and therein the right to consort with as equal, or to fight as
+equal, any noble of Spain, unless he should be of the right
+blood-royal, to which place we think the most puissant and excellent
+Marquis of Morella lays no claim.”
+
+“I thank your Majesties,” said Peter, astonished, “for the honour that
+you would do to me, which, had it not been for the fact that my father
+chose the wrong side on Bosworth Field, being of a race somewhat
+obstinate in the matter of loyalty, I should not have needed to accept
+from your Majesties. As it is I am very grateful, since now the noble
+marquis need not feel debased in settling our long quarrel as he would
+desire to do.”
+
+“Come hither and kneel down, Señor Peter Brome,” said the queen when he
+had finished speaking.
+
+He obeyed, and Isabella, borrowing his sword from the king, gave him
+the accolade by striking him thrice upon the right shoulder and saying:
+
+“Rise, Sir Peter Brome, Knight of the most noble Order of Saint Iago,
+and by creation a Don of Spain.”
+
+He rose, he bowed, retreating backwards as was the custom, and thereby
+nearly falling off the dais, which some people thought a good omen for
+Morella. As he went the king said:
+
+“Our Marshal, Sir Peter, will arrange the time and manner of your
+combat with the marquis as shall be most convenient to you both.
+Meanwhile, we command you both that no unseemly word or deed should
+pass between you, who must soon meet face to face to abide the judgment
+of God in battle à l’outrance. Rather, since one of you must die so
+shortly, do we entreat you to prepare your souls to appear before His
+judgment-seat. We have spoken.”
+
+Now the audience appeared to think that the court was ended, for many
+of them began to rise; but the queen held up her hand and said:
+
+“There remain other matters on which we must give judgment. The señora
+here,” and she pointed to Betty, “asks that her marriage should be
+declared valid, or so we understand, and the Marquis of Morella asks
+that his marriage with the said señora should be declared void, or so
+we understand. Now this is a question over which we claim no power, it
+having to do with a sacrament of the Church. Therefore we leave it to
+his Holiness the Pope in person, or by his legate, to decide according
+to his wisdom in such manner as may seem best to him, if the parties
+concerned should choose to lay their suit before him. Meanwhile, we
+declare and decree that the señora, born Elizabeth Dene, shall
+everywhere throughout our dominions, until or unless his Holiness the
+Pope shall decide to the contrary, be received and acknowledged as the
+Marchioness of Morella, and that during his lifetime her reputed
+husband shall make due provision for her maintenance, and that after
+his death, should no decision have been come to by the court of Rome
+upon her suit, she shall inherit and enjoy that proportion of his lands
+and property which belongs to a wife under the laws of this realm.”
+
+Now, while Betty bowed her thanks to their Majesties till the jewels on
+her bodice rattled, and Morella scowled till his face looked as black
+as a thunder-cloud above the mountains, the audience, whispering to
+each other, once more rose to disperse. Again the queen held up her
+hand, for the judgment was not yet finished.
+
+“We have a question to ask of the gallant Sir Peter Brome and the Dona
+Margaret, his affianced. Is it still their desire to take each other in
+marriage?”
+
+Now Peter looked at Margaret, and Margaret looked at Peter, and there
+was that in their eyes which both of them understood, for he answered
+in a clear voice:
+
+“Your Majesty, that is the dearest wish of both of us.”
+
+The queen smiled a little, then asked: “And do you, Señor John Castell,
+consent and allow your daughter’s marriage to this knight?”
+
+“I do, indeed,” he answered gravely. “Had it not been for this man
+here,” and he glanced with bitter hatred at Morella, “they would have
+been united long ago, and to that end,” he added with meaning, “such
+little property as I possessed has been made over to trustees in
+England for their benefit and that of their children. Therefore I am
+henceforward dependent upon their charity.”
+
+“Good,” said the queen. “Then one question remains to be put, and only
+one. Is it your wish, both of you, that you should be wed before the
+single combat between the Marquis of Morella and Sir Peter Brome?
+Remember, Dona Margaret, before you answer, that in this event you may
+soon be made a widow, and that if you postpone the ceremony you may
+never be a wife.”
+
+Now Margaret and Peter spoke a few words together, then the former
+answered for them both.
+
+“Should my lord fall,” she said in her sweet voice that trembled as she
+uttered the words, “in either case my heart will be widowed and broken.
+Let me live out my days, therefore, bearing his name, that, knowing my
+deathless grief, none may thenceforth trouble me with their love, who
+desire to remain his bride in heaven.”
+
+“Well spoken,” said the queen. “We decree that here in our cathedral of
+Seville you twain shall be wed on the same day, but before the Marquis
+of Morella and you, Sir Peter Brome, meet in single combat. Further,
+lest harm should be attempted against either of you,” and she looked
+sideways at Morella, “you, Señora Margaret, shall be my guest until you
+leave my care to become a bride, and you, Sir Peter, shall return to
+lodge in the prison whence you came, but with liberty to see whom you
+will, and to go when and where you will, but under our protection, lest
+some attempt should be made on you.”
+
+She ceased, whereon suddenly the king began speaking in his sharp, thin
+voice.
+
+“Having settled these matters of chivalry and marriage,” he said,
+“there remains another, which I will not leave to the gentle lips of
+our sovereign Lady, that has to do with something higher than either of
+them—namely, the eternal welfare of men’s souls, and of the Church of
+Christ on earth. It has been declared to us that the man yonder, John
+Castell, merchant of London, is that accursed thing, a Jew, who for the
+sake of gain has all his life feigned to be a Christian, and, as such,
+deceived a Christian woman into marriage; that he is, moreover, of our
+subjects, having been born in Spain, and therefore amenable to the
+civil and spiritual jurisdiction of this realm.”
+
+He paused, while Margaret and Peter stared at each other affrighted.
+Only Castell stood silent and unmoved, though he guessed what must
+follow better than either of them.
+
+“We judge him not,” went on the king, “who claim no authority in such
+high matters, but we do what we must do—we commit him to the Holy
+Inquisition, there to take his trial!”
+
+Now Margaret cried aloud. Peter stared about him as though for help,
+which he knew could never come, feeling more afraid than ever he had
+been in all his life, and for the first time that day Morella smiled.
+At least he would be rid of one enemy. But Castell went to Margaret and
+kissed her tenderly. Then he shook Peter by the hand, saying:
+
+“Kill that thief,” and he looked at Morella, “as I know you will, and
+would if there were ten as bad at his back. And be a good husband to my
+girl, as I know you will also, for I shall ask an account of you of
+these matters when we meet where there is neither Jew nor Christian,
+priest nor king. Now be silent, and bear what must be borne as I do,
+for I have a word to say before I leave you and the world.
+
+“Your Majesties, I make no plea for myself, and when I am questioned
+before your Inquisition the task will be easy, for I desire to hide
+nothing, and will tell the truth, though not from fear or because I
+shrink from pain. Your Majesties, you have told us that these two, who,
+at least, are good enough Christians from their birth, shall be wed. I
+would ask you if any spiritual crime, or supposed crime, of mine will
+be allowed to work their separation, or to their detriment in any way
+whatsoever.”
+
+“On that point,” answered the queen quickly, as though she wished to
+get in her words before the king or any one else could speak, “you have
+our royal word, John Castell. Your case is apart from their case, and
+nothing of which you may be convicted shall affect them in person or,”
+she added slowly, “in property.”
+
+“A large promise,” muttered the king.
+
+“It is my promise,” she answered decidedly, “and it shall be kept at
+any cost. These two shall marry, and if Sir Peter lives through the
+fray they shall depart from Spain unharmed, nor shall any fresh charge
+be brought against them in any court of the realm, nor shall they be
+persecuted or proceeded against in any other realm or on the high seas
+at our instance or that of our officers. Let my words be written down,
+and one copy of them signed and filed and another copy given to the
+Dona Margaret.”
+
+“Your Majesty,” said Castell, “I thank you, and now, if die I must, I
+shall die happy. Yet I make bold to tell you that had you not spoken
+them it was my purpose to kill myself, here before your eyes, since
+that is a sin for which none can be asked to suffer save the sinner.
+Also, I say that this Inquisition which you have set up shall eat out
+the heart of Spain and bring her greatness to the dust of death. The
+torture and the misery of those Jews, than whom you have no better or
+more faithful subjects, shall be avenged on the heads of your
+children’s children for so long as their blood endures.”
+
+He finished speaking, and, while something that sounded like a gasp of
+fear rose from that crowded court as the meaning of Castell’s bold
+words came home to his auditors, the crowd behind him separated, and
+there appeared, walking two by two, a file of masked and hooded monks
+and a guard of soldiers, all of whom doubtless were in waiting. They
+came to John Castell, they touched him on the shoulder, they closed
+around him, hiding him as it were from the world, and in the midst of
+them he vanished away.
+
+Peter’s memories of that strange day in the Alcazar at Seville always
+remained somewhat dim and blurred. It was not wonderful. Within the
+space of a few hours he had been tried for his life and acquitted. He
+had seen Betty, transformed from a humble companion into a magnificent
+and glittering marchioness, as a chrysalis is transformed into a
+butterfly, urge her strange suit against the husband who had tricked
+her, and whom she had tricked, and, for the while at any rate, more
+than hold her own, thanks to her ready wit and native strength of
+character.
+
+As her champion, and that of Margaret, he had challenged Morella to a
+single combat, and when his defiance was refused on the ground of his
+lack of rank, by the favour of the great Isabella, who wished to use
+him as her instrument, doubtless because of those secret ambitions of
+Morella’s which Margaret had revealed to her, he had been suddenly
+advanced to the high station of a Knight of the Order of St. James of
+Spain, to which, although he cared little for it, otherwise he might
+vainly have striven to come.
+
+More, and better far, the desire of his heart would at length be
+attained, for now it was granted to him to meet his enemy, the man whom
+he hated with just cause, upon a fair field, without favour shown to
+one or the other, and to fight him to the death. He had been promised,
+further, that within some few days Margaret should be given to him as
+wife, although it well might be that she would keep that name but for a
+single hour, and that until then they both should dwell safe from
+Morella’s violence and treachery; also that, whatever chanced, no suit
+should lie against them in any land for aught that they did or had done
+in Spain.
+
+Lastly, when all seemed safe save for that chance of war, whereof,
+having been bred to such things, he took but little count; when his
+cup, emptied at length of mire and sand, was brimming full with the
+good red wine of battle and of love, when it was at his very lips
+indeed, Fate had turned it to poison and to gall. Castell, his bride’s
+father, and the man he loved, had been haled to the vaults of the
+Inquisition, whence he knew well he would come forth but once more,
+dressed in a yellow robe “relaxed to the civil arm,” to perish slowly
+in the fires of the Quemadero, the place of burning of heretics.
+
+What would his conquest over Morella avail if Heaven should give him
+power to conquer? What kind of a bridal would that be which was sealed
+and consecrated by the death of the bride’s father in the torturing
+fires of the Inquisition? How would they ever get the smell of the
+smoke of that sacrifice out of their nostrils? Castell was a brave man;
+no torments would make him recant. It was doubtful even if he would be
+at the pains to deny his faith, he who had only been baptized a
+Christian by his father for the sake of policy, and suffered the fraud
+to continue for the purposes of his business, and that he might win and
+keep a Christian wife. No, Castell was doomed, and he could no more
+protect him from priest and king than a dove can protect its nest from
+a pair of hungry peregrines.
+
+Oh that last scene! Never could Peter forget it while he lived—the
+vast, fretted hall with its painted arches and marble columns; the rays
+of the afternoon sun piercing the window-places, and streaming like
+blood on to the black robes of the monks as, with their prey, they
+vanished back into the arcade where they had lurked; Margaret’s wild
+cry and ashen face as her father was torn away from her, and she sank
+fainting on to Betty’s bejewelled bosom; the cruel sneer on Morella’s
+lips; the king’s hard smile; the pity in the queen’s eye; the excited
+murmurings of the crowd; the quick, brief comments of the lawyers; the
+scratching of the clerk’s quill as, careless of everything save his
+work, he recorded the various decrees; and above it all as it were,
+upright, defiant, unmoved, Castell, surrounded by the ministers of
+death, vanishing into the blackness of the arcade, vanishing into the
+jaws of the tomb.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+FATHER HENRIQUES AND THE BAKER’S OVEN.
+
+
+A week had gone by. Margaret was in the palace, where Peter had been to
+see her twice, and found her broken-hearted. Even the fact that they
+were to be wed upon the following Saturday, the day fixed also for the
+combat between Peter and Morella, brought her no joy or consolation.
+For on the next day, the Sunday, there was to be an “Act of Faith,” an
+auto-da-fé in Seville, when wicked heretics, such as Jews, Moors, and
+persons who had spoken blasphemy, were to suffer for their crimes—some
+by fire on the Quemadero, or place of burning, outside the city; some
+by making public confession of their grievous sin before they were
+carried off to perpetual and solitary imprisonment; some by being
+garotted before their bodies were given to the flames, and so forth. In
+this ceremony it was known that John Castell had been doomed to play a
+leading part.
+
+On her knees, with tears and beseechings, Margaret had prayed the queen
+for mercy. But in this matter those tears produced no more effect upon
+the heart of Isabella than does water dripping on a diamond. Gentle
+enough in other ways, where questions of the Faith were concerned she
+had the craft of a fox and the cruelty of a tiger. She was even
+indignant with Margaret. Had not enough been done for her? she asked.
+Had she not even passed her royal word that no steps should be taken to
+deprive the accused of such property as he might own in Spain if he
+were found guilty, and that none of those penalties which, according to
+law and custom fell upon the children of such infamous persons, should
+attach to her, Margaret? Was she not to be publicly married to her
+lover, and, should he survive the combat, allowed to depart with him in
+honour without even being asked to see her father expiate his iniquity?
+Surely, as a good Christian she should rejoice that he was given this
+opportunity of reconciling his soul with God and be made an example to
+others of his accursed faith. Was she then a heretic also?
+
+So she stormed on, till Margaret crept from her presence wondering
+whether this creed could be right that would force the child to inform
+against and bring the parent to torment. Where were such things written
+in the sayings of the Saviour and His Apostles? And if they were not
+written, who had invented them?
+
+“Save him!—save him!” Margaret had gasped to Peter in despair. “Save
+him, or I swear to you, however much I may love you, however much we
+may seem to be married, never shall you be a husband to me.”
+
+“That seems hard,” replied Peter, shaking his head mournfully, “since
+it was not I who gave him over to these devils, and probably the end of
+it would be that I should share his fate. Still, I will do what a man
+can.”
+
+“No, no,” she cried in despair; “do nothing that will bring you into
+danger.” But he had gone without waiting for her answer.
+
+It was night, and Peter sat in a secret room in a certain baker’s shop
+in Seville. There were present there besides himself the Fray
+Henriques—now a secretary to the Holy Inquisition, but disguised as a
+layman—the woman Inez, the agent Bernaldez, and the old Jew, Israel of
+Granada.
+
+“I have brought him here, never mind how,” Inez was saying, pointing to
+Henriques. “A risky and disagreeable business enough. And now what is
+the use of it?”
+
+“No use at all,” answered the Fray coolly, “except to me who pocket my
+ten gold pieces.”
+
+“A thousand doubloons if our friend escapes safe and sound,” put in the
+old Jew Israel. “God in Heaven! think of it, a thousand doubloons.”
+
+The secretary’s eyes gleamed hungrily.
+
+“I could do with them well enough,” he answered, “and hell could spare
+one filthy Jew for ten years or so, but I see no way. What I do see, is
+that probably all of you will join him. It is a great crime to try to
+tamper with a servant of the Holy Office.”
+
+Bernaldez turned white, and the old Jew bit his nails; but Inez tapped
+the priest upon the shoulder.
+
+“Are you thinking of betraying us?” she asked in her gentle voice.
+“Look here, friend, I have some knowledge of poisons, and I swear to
+you that if you attempt it, you shall die within a week, tied in a
+double knot, and never know whence the dose came. Or I can bewitch you,
+I, who have not lived a dozen years among the Moors for nothing, so
+that your head swells and your body wastes, and you utter blasphemies,
+not knowing what you say, until for very shame’s sake they toast you
+among the faggots also.”
+
+“Bewitch me!” answered Henriques with a shiver. “You have done that
+already, or I should not be here.”
+
+“Then, if you do not wish to be in another place before your time,”
+went on Inez, still tapping his shoulder gently, “think, think! and
+find a way, worthy servant of the Holy Office.”
+
+“A thousand doubloons!—a thousand gold doubloons!” croaked old Israel,
+“or if you fail, sooner or later, this month or next, this year or
+next, death—death as slow and cruel as we can make it. There are two
+Inquisitions in Spain, holy Father; but one of them does its business
+in the dark, and your name is on its ledger.”
+
+Now Henriques was very frightened, as well he might be with all those
+eyes glaring at him.
+
+“You need fear nothing,” he said, “I know the devilish power of your
+league too well, and that, if I kill you all, a hundred others I have
+never seen or heard of would dog me to my death, who have taken your
+accursed money.”
+
+“I am glad that you understand at last, dear friend,” said the soft,
+mocking voice of Inez, who stood behind the monk like an evil genius,
+and again tapped him affectionately on the shoulder, this time with the
+bare blade of a poniard. “Now be quick with that plan of yours. It
+grows late, and all holy people should be abed.”
+
+“I have none. I defy you,” he answered furiously.
+
+“Very well, friend—very well; then I will say good night, or rather
+farewell, since I am not likely to meet you again in this world.”
+
+“Where are you going?” he asked anxiously.
+
+“Oh! to the palace to meet the Marquis of Morella and a friend of his,
+a relation indeed. Look you here. I have had an offer of pardon for my
+part in that marriage if I can prove that a certain base priest knew
+that he was perpetrating a fraud. Well, I can prove it—you may remember
+that you wrote me a note—and, if I do, what happens to such a priest
+who chances to have incurred the hatred of a grandee of Spain and of
+his noble relation?”
+
+“I am an officer of the Holy Inquisition; no one dare touch me,” he
+gasped.
+
+“Oh! I think that there are some who would take the risk. For
+instance—the king.”
+
+Fray Henriques sank back in his chair. Now he understood whom Inez
+meant by the noble relative of Morella, understood also that he had
+been trapped. “On Sunday morning,” he began in a hollow whisper, “the
+procession will be formed, and wind through the streets of the city to
+the theatre, where the sermon will be preached before those who are
+relaxed proceed to the Quemadero. About eight o’clock it turns on to
+the quay for a little way only, and here will be but few spectators,
+since the view of the pageant is bad, nor is the road guarded there.
+Now, if a dozen determined men were waiting disguised as peasants with
+a boat at hand, perhaps they might——” and he paused.
+
+Then Peter, who had been watching and listening to all this play, spoke
+for the first time, asking:
+
+“In such an event, reverend Sir, how would those determined men know
+which was the victim that they sought?”
+
+“The heretic John Castell,” he answered, “will be seated on an ass,
+clad in a zamarra of sheepskin painted with fiends and a likeness of
+his own head burning—very well done, for I, who can draw, had a hand in
+it. Also, he alone will have a rope round his neck, by which he may be
+known.”
+
+“Why will he be seated on an ass?” asked Peter savagely. “Because you
+have tortured him so that he cannot walk?”
+
+“Not so—not so,” said the Dominican, shrinking from those fierce eyes.
+“He has never been questioned at all, not a single turn of the
+mancuerda, I swear to you, Sir Knight. What was the use, since he
+openly avows himself an accursed Jew?”
+
+“Be more gentle in your talk, friend,” broke in Inez, with her familiar
+tap upon the shoulder. “There are those here who do not think so ill of
+Jews as you do in your Holy House, but who understand how to apply the
+mancuerda, and can make a very serviceable rack out of a plank and a
+pulley or two such as lie in the next room. Cultivate courtesy, most
+learned priest, lest before you leave this place you should add a cubit
+to your stature.”
+
+“Go on,” growled Peter.
+
+“Moreover,” added Fray Henriques shakily, “orders came that it was not
+to be done. The Inquisitors thought otherwise, as they believed
+—doubtless in error—that he might have accomplices whose names he would
+give up; but the orders said that as he had lived so long in England,
+and only recently travelled to Spain, he could have none. Therefore he
+is sound—sound as a bell; never before, I am told, has an impenitent
+Jew gone to the stake in such good case, however worthy and worshipful
+he might be.”
+
+“So much the better for you, if you do not lie,” answered Peter.
+“Continue!”
+
+“There is nothing more to say, except that I shall be walking near to
+him with the two guards, and, of course, if he were snatched away from
+us, and there were no boats handy in which to pursue, we could not help
+it, could we? Indeed, we priests, who are men of peace, might even fly
+at the sight of cruel violence.”
+
+“I should advise you to fly fast and far,” said Peter. “But, Inez, what
+hold have you on this friend of yours? He will trick everybody.”
+
+“A thousand doubloons—a thousand doubloons!” muttered old Israel like a
+sleepy parrot.
+
+“He may think to screw more than that out of the carcases of some of
+us, old man. Come, Inez, you are quick at this game. How can we best
+hold him to his word?”
+
+“Dead, I think,” broke in Bernaldez, who knew his danger as the partner
+and relative of Castell, and the nominal owner of the ship Margaret in
+which it was purposed that he should escape. “We know all that he can
+tell, and if we let him go he will betray us soon or late. Kill him out
+of the way, I say, and burn his body in the oven.”
+
+Now Henriques fell upon his knees, and with groans and tears began to
+implore mercy.
+
+“Why do you complain so?” asked Inez, watching him with reflective
+eyes. “The end would be much gentler than that which you righteous folk
+mete out to many more honest men, yes, and women too. For my part, I
+think that the Señor Bernaldez gives good counsel. Better that you
+should die, who are but one, than all of us and others, for you will
+understand that we cannot trust you. Has any one got a rope?”
+
+Now Henriques grovelled on the ground before her, kissing the hem of
+her robe, and praying her in the name of all the saints to show pity on
+one who had been betrayed into this danger by love of her.
+
+“Of money you mean, Toad,” she answered, kicking him with her slippered
+foot. “I had to listen to your talk of love while we journeyed
+together, and before, but here I need not, and if you speak of it again
+you shall go living into that baker’s oven. Oh! you have forgotten it,
+but I have a long score to settle with you. You were a familiar of the
+Holy Office here at Seville—were you not?—before Morella promoted you
+to Motril for your zeal, and made you one of his chaplains? Well, I had
+a sister.” And she knelt down and whispered a name into his ear.
+
+He uttered a sound—it was more of a scream than a gasp.
+
+“I had nothing to do with her death,” he protested. “She was brought
+within the walls of the Holy House by some one who had a grudge against
+her and bore false witness.”
+
+“Yes, I know. It was you who had the grudge, you snake-souled rogue,
+and it was you who gave the false witness. It was you, also, who but
+the other day volunteered the corroborative evidence that was necessary
+against Castell, saying that he had passed the Rood at your house in
+Motril without doing it reverence, and other things. It was you, too,
+who urged your superiors to put him to the question, because you said
+he was rich and had rich friends, and much money could be wrung out of
+him and them, whereof you were to get your share. Oh! yes, my
+information is good, is it not? Even what passes in the dungeons of the
+Holy House comes to the ears of the woman Inez. Well, do you still
+think that baker’s oven too hot for you?”
+
+By this time Henriques was speechless with terror. There he knelt upon
+the floor, glaring at this soft-voiced, remorseless woman who had made
+a tool and a fool of him; who had beguiled him there that night, and
+who hated him so bitterly and with so just a cause. Peter was speaking
+now.
+
+“It would be better not to stain our hands with the creature’s blood,”
+he said. “Caged rats give little sport, and he might be tracked. For my
+part, I would leave his judgment to God. Have you no other way, Inez?”
+
+She thought a while, then prodded the Fray Henriques with her foot,
+saying:
+
+“Get up, sainted secretary to the Holy Office, and do a little writing,
+which will be easy to you. See, here are pens and paper. Now I’ll
+dictate:
+
+  “‘Most Adorable Inez,
+
+“‘Your dear message has reached me safely here in this accursed Holy
+House, where we lighten heretics of their sins to the benefit of their
+souls, and of their goods to the benefit of our own bodies——’”
+
+“I cannot write it,” groaned Henriques; “it is rank heresy.”
+
+“No, only the truth,” answered Inez.
+
+“Heresy and the truth—well, they are often the same thing. They would
+burn me for it.”
+
+“That is just what many heretics have urged. They have died gloriously
+for what they hold to be the truth, why should not you? Listen,” she
+went on more sternly. “Will you take your chance of burning on the
+Quemadero, which you will not do unless you betray us, or will you
+certainly burn more privately, but better, in a baker’s oven, and
+within half an hour? Ah! I thought you would not hesitate. Continue
+your letter, most learned scribe. Are those words down? Yes. Now add
+these:
+
+ “‘I note all you tell me about the trial at the Alcazar before their
+Majesties. I believe that the Englishwoman will win her case. That was
+a very pretty trick that I played on the most noble marquis at Granada.
+Nothing neater was ever done, even in this place. Well, I owed him a
+long score, and I have paid him off in full. I should like to have seen
+his exalted countenance when he surveyed the features of his bride, the
+waiting-woman, and knew that the mistress was safe away with another
+man. The nephew of the king, who would like himself to be king some
+day, married to an English waiting-woman! Good, very good, dear Inez.
+
+ “‘Now, as regards the Jew, John Castell. I think that the matter may
+possibly be managed, provided that the money is all right, for, as you
+know, I do not work for nothing. Thus——’”
+
+And Inez dictated with admirable lucidity those suggestions as to the
+rescue of Castell, with which the reader is already acquainted, ending
+the letter as follows:
+
+ “‘These Inquisitors here are cruel beasts, though fonder of money than
+of blood; for all their talk about zeal for the Faith is so much wind
+behind the mountains. They care as much for the Faith as the mountain
+cares for the wind, or, let us say, as I do. They wanted to torture the
+poor devil, thinking that he would rain maravedis; but I gave a hint in
+the right quarter, and their fun was stopped. Carissima, I must stop
+also; it is my hour for duty, but I hope to meet you as arranged, and
+we will have a merry evening. Love to the newly married marquis, if you
+meet him, and to yourself you know how much.
+
+“‘Your     
+
+“‘HENRIQUES.
+
+ “‘POSTSCRIPTUM.—This position will scarcely be as remunerative as I
+hoped, so I am glad to be able to earn a little outside, enough to buy
+you a present that will make your pretty eyes shine.’
+
+“There!” said Inez mildly, “I think that covers everything, and would
+burn you three or four times over. Let me read it to see that it is
+plainly written and properly signed, for in such matters a good deal
+turns on handwriting. Yes, that will do. Now you understand, don’t you,
+if anything goes wrong about the matter we have been talking of—that
+is, if the worthy John Castell is not rescued, or a smell of our little
+plot should get into the wind—this letter goes at once to the right
+quarter, and a certain secretary will wish that he had never been born.
+Man!” she added in a hissing whisper, “you shall die by inches as my
+sister did.”
+
+“A thousand doubloons if the thing succeeds, and you live to claim
+them,” croaked old Israel. “I do not go back upon my word. Death and
+shame and torture or a thousand doubloons. Now he knows our terms,
+blindfold him again, Señor Bernaldez, and away with him, for he poisons
+the air. But first you, Inez, be gone and lodge that letter where you
+know.”
+
+That same night two cloaked figures, Peter and Bernaldez, were rowed in
+a little boat out to where the Margaret lay in the river, and, making
+her fast, slipped up the ship’s side into the cabin. Here the stout
+English captain, Smith, was waiting for them, and so glad was the
+honest fellow to see Peter that he cast his arms about him and hugged
+him, for they had not met since that desperate adventure of the
+boarding of the San Antonio.
+
+“Is your ship fit for sea, Captain?” asked Peter.
+
+“She will never be fitter,” he answered. “When shall I get sailing
+orders?”
+
+“When the owner comes aboard,” answered Peter.
+
+“Then we shall stop here until we rot; they have trapped him in their
+Inquisition. What is in your mind, Peter Brome?—what is in your mind?
+Is there a chance?”
+
+“Aye, Captain, I think so, if you have a dozen fellows of the right
+English stuff between decks.”
+
+“We have got that number, and one or two more. But what’s the plan?”
+
+Peter told him.
+
+“Not so bad,” said Smith, slapping his heavy hand upon his knee; “but
+risky—very risky. That Inez must be a good girl. I should like to marry
+her, notwithstanding her bygones.”
+
+Peter laughed, thinking what an odd couple they would make. “Hear the
+rest, then talk,” he said. “See now! On Saturday next Mistress Margaret
+and I are to be married in the cathedral; then, towards sunset, the
+Marquis of Morella and I run our course in the great bull-ring yonder,
+and you and half a dozen of your men will be present. Now, I may
+conquer or I may fail——”
+
+“Never!—never!” said the captain. “I wouldn’t give a pair of old boots
+for that fine Spaniard’s chance when you get at him. Why, you will
+crimp him like a cod-fish!”
+
+“God knows!” answered Peter. “If I win, my wife and I make our adieux
+to their Majesties, and ride away to the quay, where the boat will be
+waiting, and you will row us on board the Margaret. If I fail, you will
+take up my body, and, accompanied by my widow, bring it in the same
+fashion on board the Margaret, for I shall give it out that in this
+case I wish to be embalmed in wine and taken back to England for
+burial. In either event, you will drop your ship a little way down the
+river round the bend, so that folk may think that you have sailed. In
+the darkness you must work her back with the tide and lay her behind
+those old hulks, and if any ask you why, say that three of your men
+have not yet come aboard, and that you have dropped back for them, and
+whatever else you like. Then, in case I should not be alive to guide
+you, you and ten or twelve of the best sailors will land at the spot
+that this gentleman will show you to-morrow, wearing Spanish cloaks so
+as not to attract attention, but being well armed underneath them, like
+idlers from some ship who had come ashore to see the show. I have told
+you how you may know Master Castell. When you see him make a rush for
+him, cut down any that try to stop you, tumble him into the boat, and
+row for your lives to the ship, which will slip her moorings and get up
+her canvas as soon as she sees you coming, and begin to drop down the
+river with the tide and wind, if there is one. That is the plot, but
+God alone knows the end of it! which depends upon Him and the sailors.
+Will you play this game for the love of a good man and the rest of us?
+If you succeed, you shall be rich for life, all of you.”
+
+“Aye,” answered the captain, “and there’s my hand on it. So sure as my
+name is Smith, we will hook him out of that hell if men can do it, and
+not for the money either. Why, Peter, we have sat here idle so long,
+waiting for you and our lady, that we shall be glad of the fun. At any
+rate, there will be some dead Spaniards before they have done with us,
+and, if we are worsted, I’ll leave the mate and enough hands upon the
+ship to bring her safe to Tilbury. But we won’t be—we won’t be. By this
+day week we will all be rolling homewards across the Bay with never a
+Spaniard within three hundred miles, you and your lady and Master
+Castell, too. I know it! I tell you, lad, I know it!”
+
+“How do you know it?” asked Peter curiously.
+
+“Because I dreamed it last night. I saw you and Mistress Margaret
+sitting sweet as sugar, with your arms around each other’s middles,
+while I talked to the master, and the sun went down with the wind
+blowing stiff from sou-sou-west, and a gale threatening. I tell you
+that I dreamed it—I who am not given to dreams.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+THE FALCON STOOPS.
+
+
+It was the marriage day of Margaret and Peter. Clad in white armour
+that had been sent to him as a present from the queen, a sign and a
+token of her good wishes for his success in his combat with Morella,
+wearing the insignia of a Knight of St. James hanging by a ribbon from
+his neck, his shield emblazoned with his coat of the stooping falcon,
+which appeared also upon the white cloak that hung from his shoulders,
+behind him a squire of high degree, who carried his plumed casque and
+lance, and accompanied by an escort of the royal guards, Peter rode
+from his quarters in the prison to the palace gates, and waited there
+as he had been bidden. Presently they opened, and through them, seated
+on a palfrey, appeared Margaret, wonderfully attired in white and
+silver, but with her veil lifted so that her face could be seen. She
+was companioned by a troop of maidens mounted, all of them, on white
+horses, and at her side, almost outshining her in glory of apparel, and
+attended by all her household, rode Betty, Marchioness of Morella—at
+any rate for that present time.
+
+Although she could never be less than beautiful, it was a worn and pale
+Margaret who bowed her greetings to the bridegroom without those palace
+gates. What wonder, since she knew that within a few hours his life
+must be set upon the hazard of a desperate fray. What wonder, since she
+knew that to-morrow her father was doomed to be burnt living upon the
+Quemadero.
+
+They met, they greeted; then, with silver trumpets blowing before them,
+the glittering procession wound its way through the narrow streets of
+Seville. But few words passed between them, whose hearts were too full
+for words, who had said all they had to say, and now abided the issue
+of events. Betty, however, whom many of the populace took for the
+bride, because her air was so much the happier of the two, would not be
+silent. Indeed she chid Margaret for her lack of gaiety upon such an
+occasion.
+
+“Oh, Betty!—Betty!” answered Margaret, “how can I be gay, upon whose
+heart lies the burden of to-morrow?”
+
+“A pest upon the burden of to-morrow!” exclaimed Betty. “The burden of
+to-day is enough for me, and that is not so bad to bear. Never shall we
+have another such ride as this, with all the world staring at us, and
+every woman in Seville envying us and our good looks and the favour of
+the queen.”
+
+“I think it is you they stare at and envy,” said Margaret, glancing at
+the splendid woman at her side, whose beauty she knew well
+over-shadowed her own rarer loveliness, at any rate in a street
+pageant, as in the sunshine the rose overshadows the lily.
+
+“Well,” answered Betty, “if so, it is because I put the better face on
+things, and smile even if my heart bleeds. At least, your lot is more
+hopeful than mine. If your husband has to fight to the death presently,
+so has mine, and between ourselves I favour Peter’s chances. He is a
+very stubborn fighter, Peter, and wonderfully strong—too stubborn and
+strong for any Spaniard.”
+
+“Well, that is as it should be,” said Margaret, smiling faintly,
+“seeing that Peter is your champion, and if he loses, you are stamped
+as a serving-girl, and a woman of no character.”
+
+“A serving-girl I was, or something not far different,” replied Betty
+in a reflective voice, “and my character is a matter between me and
+Heaven, though, after all, it might scrape through where others fail to
+pass. So these things do not trouble me over much. What troubles me is
+that if my champion wins he kills my husband.”
+
+“You don’t want him to be killed then?” asked Margaret, glancing at
+her.
+
+“No, I think not,” answered Betty with a little shake in her voice, and
+turning her head aside for a moment. “I know he is a scoundrel, but,
+you see, I always liked this scoundrel, just as you always hated him,
+so I cannot help wishing that he was going to meet some one who hits a
+little less hard than Peter. Also, if he dies, without doubt his heirs
+will raise suits against me.”
+
+“At any rate your father is not going to be burnt to-morrow,” said
+Margaret to change the subject, which, to tell the truth, was an
+awkward one.
+
+“No, Cousin, if my father had his deserts, according to all accounts,
+although the lineage that I gave of him is true enough, doubtless he
+was burnt long ago, and still goes on burning—in Purgatory, I
+mean—though God knows I would never bring a faggot to his fire. But
+Master Castell will not be burnt, so why fret about it.”
+
+“What makes you say that?” asked Margaret, who had not confided the
+details of a certain plot to Betty.
+
+“I don’t know, but I am sure that Peter will get him out somehow. He is
+a very good stick to lean on, Peter, although he seems so hard and
+stupid and silent, which, after all, is in the nature of sticks. But
+look, there is the cathedral—is it not a fine place?—and a great crowd
+of people waiting round the gate. Now smile, Cousin. Bow and smile as I
+do.”
+
+They rode up to the great doors, where Peter, springing to the ground,
+assisted his bride from her palfrey. Then the procession formed, and
+they entered the wonderful place, preceded by vergers with staves, and
+by acolytes. Margaret had never visited it before, and never saw it
+again, but all her life the memory of it remained clear and vivid in
+her mind. The cold chill of the air within, the semi-darkness after the
+glare of the sunshine, the seven great naves, or aisles, stretching
+endlessly to right and left, the dim and towering roof, the pillars
+that sprang to it everywhere like huge forest trees aspiring to the
+skies, the solemn shadows pierced by lines of light from the high-cut
+windows, the golden glory of the altars, the sounds of chanting, the
+sepulchres of the dead—a sense of all these things rushed in upon her,
+overpowering her and stamping the picture of them for ever on her
+memory.
+
+Slowly they passed onward to the choir, and round it to the steps of
+the great altar of the chief chapel. Here, between the choir and the
+chapel, was gathered the congregation—no small one—and here, side by
+side to the right and without the rails, in chairs of state, sat their
+Majesties of Spain, who had chosen to grace this ceremony with their
+presence. More, as the bride came, the queen Isabella, as a special act
+of grace, rose from her seat and, bending forward, kissed her on the
+cheek, while the choir sang and the noble music rolled. It was a
+splendid spectacle, this marriage of hers, celebrated in perhaps the
+most glorious fane in Europe. But even as Margaret noted it and watched
+the bishops and priests decked with glittering embroideries, summoned
+there to do her honour, as they moved to and fro in the mysterious
+ceremonial of the Mass, she bethought her of other rites equally
+glorious that would take place on the morrow in the greatest square of
+Seville, where these same dignitaries would condemn fellow human
+beings—perhaps among them her own father—to be married to the cruel
+flame.
+
+Side by side they knelt before the wondrous altar, while the
+incense-clouds from the censers floated up one by one till they were
+lost in the gloom above, as the smoke of to-morrow’s sacrifice would
+lose itself in the heavens, she and her husband, won at last, won after
+so many perils, perhaps to be lost again for ever before night fell
+upon the world. The priests chanted, the gorgeous bishop bowed over
+them and muttered the marriage service of their faith, the ring was set
+upon her hand, the troths were plighted, the benediction spoken, and
+they were man and wife till death should them part, that death which
+stood so near to them in this hour of life fulfilled. Then they two,
+who already that morning had made confession of their sins, kneeling
+alone before the altar, ate of the holy Bread, sealing a mystery with a
+mystery.
+
+All was done and over, and rising, they turned and stayed a moment hand
+in hand while the sweet-voiced choir sang some wondrous chant.
+Margaret’s eyes wandered over the congregation till presently they
+lighted upon the dark face of Morella, who stood apart a little way,
+surrounded by his squires and gentlemen, and watched her. More, he came
+to her, and bowing low, whispered to her:
+
+“We are players in a strange game, my lady Margaret, and what will be
+its end, I wonder? Shall I be dead to-night, or you a widow? Aye, and
+where was its beginning? Not here, I think. And where, oh where shall
+this seed we sow bear fruit? Well, think as kindly of me as you can,
+since I loved you who love me not.”
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+“We are players in a strange game, my lady Margaret”
+
+And again bowing, first to her, then to Peter, he passed on, taking no
+note of Betty, who stood near, considering him with her large eyes, as
+though she also wondered what would be the end of all this play.
+
+Surrounded by their courtiers, the king and queen left the cathedral,
+and after them came the bridegroom and the bride. They mounted their
+horses and in the glory of the southern sunlight rode through the
+cheering crowd back to the palace and to the marriage feast, where
+their table was set but just below that of their Majesties. It was long
+and magnificent; but little could they eat, and, save to pledge each
+other in the ceremonial cup, no wine passed their lips. At length some
+trumpets blew, and their Majesties rose, the king saying in his thin,
+clear voice that he would not bid his guests farewell, since very
+shortly they would all meet again in another place, where the gallant
+bridegroom, a gentleman of England, would champion the cause of his
+relative and countrywoman against one of the first grandees of Spain
+whom she alleged had done her wrong. That fray, alas! would be no
+pleasure joust, but to the death, for the feud between these knights
+was deep and bitter, and such were the conditions of their combat. He
+could not wish success to the one or to the other; but of this he was
+sure, that in all Seville there was no heart that would not give equal
+honour to the conqueror and the conquered, sure also that both would
+bear themselves as became brave knights of Spain and England.
+
+Then the trumpets blew again, and the squires and gentlemen who were
+chosen to attend him came bowing to Peter, and saying that it was time
+for him to arm. Bride and bridegroom rose and, while all the spectators
+fell back out of hearing, but watching them with curious eyes, spoke
+some few words together.
+
+“We part,” said Peter, “and I know not what to say.”
+
+“Say nothing, husband,” she answered him, “lest your words should
+weaken me. Go now, and bear you bravely, as you will for your own
+honour and that of England, and for mine. Dead or living you are my
+darling, and dead or living we shall meet once more and be at rest for
+aye. My prayers be with you, Sir Peter, my prayers and my eternal love,
+and may they bring strength to your arm and comfort to your heart.”
+
+Then she, who would not embrace him before all those folk, curtseyed
+till her knee almost touched the ground, while low he bent before her,
+a strange and stately parting, or so thought that company; and taking
+the hand of Betty, Margaret left him.
+
+Two hours had gone by. The Plaza de Toros, for the great square where
+tournaments were wont to be held was in the hands of those who prepared
+it for the auto-da-fé of the morrow, was crowded as it had seldom been
+before. This place was a huge amphitheatre—perchance the Romans built
+it—where all sorts of games were celebrated, among them the baiting of
+bulls as it was practised in those days, and other semi-savage sports.
+Twelve thousand people could sit upon the benches that rose tier upon
+tier around the vast theatre, and scarce a seat was empty. The arena
+itself, that was long enough for horses starting at either end of it to
+come to their full speed, was strewn with white sand, as it may have
+been in the days when gladiators fought there. Over the main entrance
+and opposite to the centre of the ring were placed the king and queen
+with their lords and ladies, and between them, but a little behind, her
+face hid by her bridal veil, sat Margaret, upright and silent as a
+statue. Exactly in front of them, on the further side of the ring in a
+pavilion, and attended by her household, appeared Betty, glittering
+with gold and jewels, since she was the lady in whose cause, at least
+in name, this combat was to be fought à l’outrance. Quite unmoved she
+sat, and her presence seemed to draw every eye in that vast assembly
+which talked of her while it waited, with a sound like the sound of the
+sea as it murmurs on a beach at night.
+
+Now the trumpets blew, and silence fell, and then, preceded by heralds
+in golden tabards, Carlos, Marquis of Morella, followed by his squires,
+rode into the ring through the great entrance. He bestrode a splendid
+black horse, and was arrayed in coal-black armour, while from his
+casque rose black ostrich plumes. On his shield, however, painted in
+scarlet, appeared the eagle crowned with the coronet of his rank, and
+beneath, the proud motto—“What I seize I tear.” A splendid figure, he
+pressed his horse into the centre of the arena, then causing it to
+wheel round, pawing the air with its forelegs, saluted their Majesties
+by raising his long, steel-tipped lance, while the multitude greeted
+him with a shout. This done, he and his company rode away to their
+station at the north end of the ring.
+
+Again the trumpets sounded, and a herald appeared, while after him,
+mounted on a white horse, and clad in his white armour that glistened
+in the sun, with white plumes rising from his casque, and on his shield
+the stooping falcon blazoned in gold with the motto of “For love and
+honour” beneath it, appeared the tall, grim shape of Sir Peter Brome.
+He, too, rode out into the centre of the arena, and, turning his horse
+quite soberly, as though it were on a road, lifted his lance in salute.
+Now there was no cheering, for this knight was a foreigner, yet
+soldiers who were there said to each other that he looked like one who
+would not easily be overthrown.
+
+A third time the trumpets sounded, and the two champions, advancing
+from their respective stations, drew rein side by side in front of
+their Majesties, where the conditions of the combat were read aloud to
+them by the chief herald. They were short. That the fray should be to
+the death unless the king and queen willed otherwise and the victor
+consented; that it should be on horse or on foot, with lance or sword
+or dagger, but that no broken weapon might be replaced and no horse or
+armour changed; that the victor should be escorted from the place of
+combat with all honour, and allowed to depart whither he would, in the
+kingdom or out of it, and no suit or blood-feud raised against him; and
+that the body of the fallen be handed over to his friends for burial,
+also with all honour. That the issue of this fray should in no way
+affect any cause pleaded in Courts ecclesiastical or civil, by the lady
+who asserted herself to be the Marchioness of Morella, or by the most
+noble Marquis of Morella, whom she claimed as her husband.
+
+These conditions having been read, the champions were asked if they
+assented to them, whereon each of them answered, “Aye!” in a clear
+voice. Then the herald, speaking on behalf of Sir Peter Brome, by
+creation a knight of St. Iago and a Don of Spain, solemnly challenged
+the noble Marquis of Morella to single combat to the death, in that he,
+the said marquis, had aspersed the name of his relative, the English
+lady, Elizabeth Dene, who claimed to be his wife, duly united to him in
+holy wedlock, and for sundry other causes and injuries worked towards
+him, the said Sir Peter Brome, and his wife, Dame Margaret Brome, and
+in token thereof, threw down a gauntlet, which gauntlet the Marquis of
+Morella lifted upon the point of his lance and cast over his shoulder,
+thus accepting the challenge.
+
+Now the combatants dropped their visors, which heretofore had been
+raised, and their squires, coming forward, examined the fastenings of
+their armour, their weapons, and the girths and bridles of their
+horses. These being pronounced sound and good, pursuivants took the
+steeds by the bridles and led them to the far ends of the lists. At a
+signal from the king a single clarion blew, whereon the pursuivants
+loosed their hold of the bridles and sprang back. Another clarion blew,
+and the knights gathered up their reins, settled their shields, and set
+their lances in rest, bending forward over their horses’ necks.
+
+An intense silence fell upon all the watching multitude as that of
+night upon the sea, and in the midst of it the third clarion blew—to
+Margaret it sounded like the trump of doom. From twelve thousand
+throats one great sigh went up, like the sigh of wind upon the sea, and
+ere it died away, from either end of the arena, like arrows from the
+bow, like levens from a cloud, the champions started forth, their
+stallions gathering speed at every stride. Look, they met! Fair on each
+shield struck a lance, and backward reeled their holders. The keen
+points glanced aside or up, and the knights, recovering themselves,
+rushed past each other, shaken but unhurt. At the ends of the lists the
+squires caught the horses by the bridles and turned them. The first
+course was run.
+
+Again the clarions blew, and again they started forward, and presently
+again they met in mid career. As before, the lances struck upon the
+shields; but so fearful was the impact, that Peter’s shivered, while
+that of Morella, sliding from the topmost rim of his foe’s buckler, got
+hold in his visor bars. Back went Peter beneath the blow, back and
+still back, till almost he lay upon his horse’s crupper. Then, when it
+seemed that he must fall, the lacings of his helm burst. It was torn
+from his head, and Morella passed on bearing it transfixed upon his
+spear point.
+
+“The Falcon falls,” screamed the spectators; “he is unhorsed.”
+
+But Peter was not unhorsed. Freed from that awful pressure, he let drop
+the shattered shaft and, grasping at his saddle strap, dragged himself
+back into the selle. Morella tried to stay his charger, that he might
+come about and fall upon the Englishman before he could recover
+himself; but the brute was heady, and would not be turned till he saw
+the wall of faces in front of him. Now they were round, both of them,
+but Peter had no spear and no helm, while the lance of Morella was
+cumbered with his adversary’s casque that he strove to shake free from
+it, but in vain.
+
+“Draw your sword,” shouted voices to Peter—the English voices of Smith
+and his sailors—and he put his hand down to do so, then bethought him
+of some other counsel, for he let it lie within its scabbard, and,
+spurring the white horse, came at Morella like a storm.
+
+“The Falcon will be spiked,” they screamed. “The Eagle wins!—the Eagle
+wins!” And indeed it seemed that it must be so. Straight at Peter’s
+undefended face drove Morella’s lance, but lo! as it came he let fall
+his reins and with his shield he struck at the white plumes about its
+point, the plumes torn from his own head. He had judged well, for up
+flew those plumes, a little, a very little, yet far enough to give him
+space, crouching on his saddle-bow, to pass beneath the deadly spear.
+Then, as they swept past each other, out shot that long, right arm of
+his and, gripping Morella like a hook of steel, tore him from his
+saddle, so that the black horse rushed forward riderless, and the white
+sped on bearing a double burden.
+
+Grasping desperately, Morella threw his arms about his neck, and
+intertwined, black armour mixed with white, they swayed to and fro,
+while the frightened horse beneath rushed this way and that till,
+swerving suddenly, together they fell upon the sand, and for a moment
+lay there stunned.
+
+“Who conquers?” gasped the crowd; while others answered, “Both are
+sped!” And, leaning forward in her chair, Margaret tore off her veil
+and watched with a face like the face of death.
+
+See! As they had fallen together, so together they stirred and
+rose—rose unharmed. Now they sprang back, out flashed the long swords,
+and, while the squires caught the horses and, running in, seized the
+broken spears, they faced each other. Having no helm, Peter held his
+buckler above his head to shelter it, and, ever calm, awaited the
+onslaught.
+
+At him came Morella, and with a light, grating sound his sword fell
+upon the steel. Before he could recover himself Peter struck back; but
+Morella bent his knees, and the stroke only shore the black plumes from
+his casque. Quick as light he drove at Peter’s face with his point; but
+the Englishman leapt to one side, and the thrust went past him. Again
+Morella came at him, and struck so mighty a blow that, although Peter
+caught it on his buckler, it sliced through the edge of it and fell
+upon his unprotected neck and shoulder, wounding him, for now red blood
+showed on the white armour, and Peter reeled back beneath the stroke.
+
+“The Eagle wins!—the Eagle wins! Spain and the Eagle” shouted ten
+thousand throats. In the momentary silence that followed, a single
+voice, a clear woman’s voice, which even then Margaret knew for that of
+Inez, cried from among the crowd:
+
+“Nay, the Falcon stoops!”
+
+Before the sound of her words died away, maddened it would seem, by the
+pain of his wound, or the fear of defeat, Peter shouted out his war-cry
+of “A Brome! A Brome!” and, gathering himself together, sprang straight
+at Morella as springs a starving wolf. The blue steel flickered in the
+sunlight, then down it fell, and lo! half the Spaniard’s helm lay on
+the sand, while it was Morella’s turn to reel backward—and more, as he
+did so, he let fall his shield.
+
+“A stroke!—a good stroke!” roared the crowd. “The Falcon!—the Falcon!”
+
+Peter saw that fallen shield, and whether for chivalry’s sake, as
+thought the cheering multitude, or to free his left arm, he cast away
+his own, and grasping the sword with both hands rushed on the Spaniard.
+From that moment, helmless though he was, the issue lay in doubt no
+longer. Betty had spoken of Peter as a stubborn swordsman and a hard
+hitter, and both of these he now showed himself to be. As fresh to all
+appearance as when he ran the first course, he rained blow after blow
+upon the hapless Spaniard, till the sound of his sword smiting on the
+good Toledo steel was like the sound of a hammer falling continually on
+the smith’s red iron. They were fearful blows, yet still the tough
+steel held, and still Morella, doing what he might, staggered back
+beneath them, till at length he came in front of the tribune, in which
+sat their Majesties and Margaret. Out of the corner of his eye Peter
+saw the place, and determined in his stout heart that then and there he
+would end the thing. Parrying a cut which the desperate Spaniard made
+at his head, he thrust at him so heavily that his blade bent like a
+bow, and, although he could not pierce the black mail, almost lifted
+Morella from his feet. Then, as he reeled backwards, Peter whirled his
+sword on high, and, shouting “Margaret!” struck downwards with all his
+strength. It fell as lightning falls, swift, keen, dazzling the eyes of
+all who watched. Morella raised his arm to break the blow. In vain! The
+weapon that he held was shattered, the casque beneath was cloven, and,
+throwing his arms wide, he fell heavily to the ground and lay there
+moving feebly.
+
+For an instant there was silence, and in it a shrill woman’s voice that
+cried:
+
+“The Falcon has stooped. The English hawk has stooped!”
+
+Then there arose a tumult of shouting. “He is dead!” “Nay, he stirs.”
+“Kill him!” “Spare him; he fought well!”
+
+Peter leaned upon his sword, looking at the fallen foe. Then he glanced
+upwards at their Majesties, but these sat silent, making no sign, only
+he saw Margaret try to rise from her seat and speak, to be pulled back
+to it again by the hands of women. A deep hush fell upon the watching
+thousands who waited for the end. Peter looked at Morella. Alas! he
+still lived, his sword and the stout helmet had broken the weight of
+that stroke, mighty though it had been. The man was but wounded in
+three places and stunned. “What must I do?” asked Peter in a hollow
+voice to the royal pair above him.
+
+Now the king, who seemed moved, was about to speak; but the queen bent
+forward and whispered something to him, and he remained silent. They
+both were silent. All the intent multitude was silent. Knowing what
+this dreadful silence meant, Peter cast down his sword and drew his
+dagger, wherewith to cut the lashings of Morella’s gorget and give the
+coup de grâce.
+
+Just then it was that for the first time he heard a sound, far away
+upon the other side of the arena, and, looking thither, saw the
+strangest sight that ever his eyes beheld. Over the railing of the
+pavilion opposite to him a woman climbed nimbly as a cat, and from it,
+like a cat, dropped to the ground full ten feet below, then, gathering
+up her dress about her knees, ran swiftly towards him. It was Betty!
+Betty without a doubt! Betty in her gorgeous garb, with pearls and
+braided hair flying loose behind her. He stared amazed. All stared
+amazed, and in half a minute she was on them, and, standing over the
+fallen Morella, gasped out:
+
+“Let him be! I bid you let him be.”
+
+Peter knew not what to do or say, so advanced to speak with her,
+whereon with a swoop like that of a swallow she pounced upon his sword
+that lay in the sand and, leaping back to Morella, shook it on high,
+shouting:
+
+“You will have to fight me first, Peter.”
+
+[Illustration: ]
+
+“You will have to fight me first, Peter”
+
+Indeed, she did more, striking at him so shrewdly with his own sword
+that he was forced to spring sideways to avoid the stroke. Now a great
+roar of laughter went up to heaven. Yes, even Peter laughed, for no
+such thing as this had ever before been seen in Spain. It died away,
+and again Betty, who had no low voice, shouted in her villainous
+Spanish:
+
+“He shall kill me before he kills my husband. Give me my husband!”
+
+“Take him, for my part,” answered Peter, whereon, letting fall the
+sword, Betty, filled with the strength of despair, lifted the senseless
+Spaniard in her strong white arms as though he were a child, and his
+bleeding head lying on her shoulder, strove to carry him away, but
+could not.
+
+Then, while all that audience cheered frantically, Peter with a gesture
+of despair threw down his dagger and once more appealed to their
+Majesties. The king rose and held up his hand, at the same time
+motioning to Morella’s squires to take him from the woman, which,
+seeing their cognizance, Betty allowed them to do.
+
+“Marchioness of Morella,” said the king, for the first time giving her
+that title, “your honour is cleared, your champion has conquered, and
+this fierce fray was to the death. What have you to say?”
+
+“Nothing,” answered Betty, “except that I love the man, though he has
+treated me and others ill, and, as I knew he would if he crossed swords
+with Peter, has got his deserts for his deeds. I say I love him, and if
+Peter wishes to kill him, he must kill me first.”
+
+“Sir Peter Brome,” said the king, “the judgment lies in your hand. We
+give you the man’s life, to grant or to take.”
+
+Peter thought a while, then answered:
+
+“I grant him his life if he will acknowledge this lady to be his true
+and lawful wife, and live with her as such, now and for ever, staying
+all suits against her.”
+
+“How can he do that, you fool,” asked Betty, “when you have knocked all
+his senses out of him with that great sword of yours?”
+
+“Perhaps,” suggested Peter humbly, “some one will do it for him.”
+
+“Yes,” said Isabella, speaking for the first time, “I will. On behalf
+of the Marquis of Morella I promise these things, Don Peter Brome,
+before all these people here gathered. I add this: that if he should
+live, and it pleases him to break this promise made on his behalf to
+save him from death, then let his name be shamed, yes, let it become a
+byword and a scorn. Proclaim it, heralds.”
+
+So the heralds blew their trumpets and one of them called out the
+queen’s decree, whereat the spectators cheered again, shouting that it
+was good, and they bore witness to that promise.
+
+Then Morella, still senseless, was borne away by his squires, Betty in
+her blood-stained robe marching at his side, and his horse having been
+brought to him again, Peter, wounded though he was, mounted and
+galloped round the arena amidst plaudits such as that place had never
+heard, till, lifting his sword in salutation, suddenly he and his
+gentlemen vanished by the gate through which he had appeared.
+
+Thus strangely enough ended that combat which thereafter was always
+known as the Fray of the Eagle and the English Hawk.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+HOW THE MARGARET WON OUT TO SEA.
+
+
+It was night. Peter, faint with loss of blood and stiff with bruises,
+had bade his farewell to their Majesties of Spain, who spoke many soft
+words to him, calling him the Flower of Knighthood, and offering him
+high place and rank if he would abide in their service. But he thanked
+them and said No, for in Spain he had suffered too much to dwell there.
+So they kissed his bride, the fair Margaret, who clung to her wounded
+husband like ivy to an oak, and would not be separated from him, even
+for a moment, that husband whom living she had scarcely hoped to clasp
+again. Yes, they kissed her, and the queen threw about her a chain from
+her own neck as a parting gift, and wished her joy of so gallant a
+lord.
+
+“Alas! your Majesty,” said Margaret, her dark eyes filling with tears,
+“how can I be joyous, who must think of to-morrow?”
+
+Thereon Isabella set her face and answered:
+
+“Dona Margaret Brome, be thankful for what to-day has brought you, and
+forget to-morrow and that which it must justly take away. Go now, and
+God be with you both!”
+
+So they went, the little knot of English sailormen, who, wrapped in
+Spanish cloaks, had sat together in the amphitheatre and groaned when
+the Eagle struck, and cheered when the Falcon swooped, leading, or
+rather carrying Peter under cover of the falling night to a boat not
+far from this Place of Bulls. In this they embarked unobserved, for the
+multitude, and even Peter’s own squires believed that he had returned
+with his wife to the palace, as he had given out that he would do. So
+they were rowed to the Margaret, which straightway made as though she
+were about to sail, and indeed dropped a little way down stream. Here
+she anchored again, just round a bend of the river, and lay there for
+the night.
+
+It was a heavy night, and in it there was no place for love or lovers’
+tenderness. How could there be between these two, who for so long had
+been tormented by doubts and fears, and on this day had endured such
+extremity of terror and such agony of joy? Peter’s wound also was deep
+and wide, though his shield had broken the weight of Morella’s sword,
+and its edge had caught upon his shoulder-piece, so that by good chance
+it had not reached down to the arteries, or shorn into the bone; yet he
+had lost much blood, and Smith, the captain, who was a better surgeon
+than might have been guessed from his thick hands, found it needful to
+wash out the cut with spirit that gave much pain, and to stitch it up
+with silk. Also Peter had great bruises on his arms and thighs, and his
+back was hurt by that fall from the white charger with Morella in his
+arms.
+
+So it came about that most of that night he lay outworn, half-sleeping
+and half-waking, and when at sunrise he struggled from his berth, it
+was but to kneel by the side of Margaret and join her in her prayers
+that her father might be rescued from the hands of these cruel priests
+of Spain.
+
+Now during the night Smith had brought his ship back with the tide, and
+laid her under the shelter of those hulks whereof Peter had spoken,
+having first painted out her name of Margaret, and in its place set
+that of the Santa Maria, a vessel of about the same build and tonnage,
+which, as they had heard, was expected in port. For this reason, or
+because there were at that time many ships in the river, it happened
+that none in authority noted her return, or if they did, neglected to
+report the matter as one of no moment. Therefore, so far all went well.
+
+According to the tale of Henriques, confirmed by what they had learned
+otherwise, the great procession of the Act of Faith would turn on to
+the quay at about eight o’clock, and pass along it for a hundred yards
+or so only, before it wound away down a street leading to the plaza
+where the theatre was prepared, the sermon would be preached, the Mass
+celebrated, and the “relaxed” placed in cages to be carried to the
+Quemadero.
+
+At six in the morning Smith mustered those twelve men whom he had
+chosen to help him in the enterprise, and Peter, with Margaret at his
+side, addressed them in the cabin, telling them all the plan, and
+praying them for the sake of their master and of the Lady Margaret, his
+daughter, to do what men might to save one whom they loved and honoured
+from so horrible a death.
+
+They swore that they would, every one of them, for their English blood
+was up, nor did they so much as speak of the great rewards that had
+been promised to those who lived through this adventure, and to the
+families of those who fell. Then they breakfasted, girded their swords
+and knives about them, and put on their Spanish cloaks, though, to
+speak truth, these lads of Essex and of London made but poor Spaniards.
+Now, at length the boat was ready, and Peter, although he could
+scarcely stand, desired to be carried into it that he might accompany
+them. But the captain, Smith, to whom perhaps Margaret had been
+speaking, set down his flat foot on the deck and said that he, who
+commanded there, would suffer no such thing. A wounded man, he
+declared, would but cumber them who had little room to spare in that
+small boat, and could be of no service, either on land or water.
+Moreover, Master Peter’s face was known to thousands who had watched it
+yesterday, and would certainly be recognised, whereas none would take
+note at such a time of a dozen common sailors landed from some ship to
+see the show. Lastly, he would do best to stop on board the vessel,
+where, if anything went wrong, they must be short-handed enough, who,
+if they could, ought to get her away to sea and across it with all
+speed.
+
+Still Peter would have gone, till Margaret, throwing her arms about
+him, asked him if he thought that she would be the better if she lost
+both her father and her husband, as, if things miscarried, well might
+happen. Then, being in pain and very weak, he yielded, and Smith,
+having given his last directions to the mate, and shaken Peter and
+Margaret by the hand, asking their prayers for all of them, descended
+with his twelve men into the boat, and dropping down under shelter of
+the hulks, rowed to the shore as though they came from some other
+vessel. Now the quay was not more than a bowshot from them, and from a
+certain spot upon the Margaret there was a good view of it between the
+stern of one hulk and the bow of another. Here, then, Peter and
+Margaret sat themselves down behind the bulwark, and watched with fears
+such as cannot be told, while a sharp-eyed seaman climbed to the
+crow’s-nest on the mast, whence he could see over much of the city, and
+even the old Moorish castle that was then the Holy House of the
+Inquisition. Presently this man reported that the procession had
+started, for he saw its banners and the people crowding to the windows
+and to the roof-tops; also the cathedral bell began to toll slowly.
+Then came a long, long wait, during which their little knot of sailors,
+wearing the Spanish cloaks, appeared upon the quay and mingled with the
+few folk that were gathered there, since the most of the people were
+collected by thousands on the great plaza or in the adjacent streets.
+
+At length, just as the cathedral clock struck eight, the “triumphant”
+march, as it was called, began to appear upon the quay. First came a
+body of soldiers with lances; then a crucifix, borne by a priest and
+veiled in black crape; then a number of other priests, clad in
+snow-white robes to symbolise their perfect purity. Next followed men
+carrying wood or leather images of some man or woman who, by flight to
+a foreign land or into the realms of Death, had escaped the clutches of
+the Inquisition. After these marched other men in fours, each four of
+them bearing a coffin that contained the body or bones of some dead
+heretic, which, in the absence of his living person, like the effigies,
+were to be committed to the flames as a token of what the Inquisition
+would have done to him if it could—to enable it also to seize his
+property.
+
+Then came many penitents, their heads shaven, their feet bare, and
+clad, some in dark-coloured cloaks, some in yellow robes, called the
+sanbenito, which were adorned with a red cross. These were followed by
+a melancholy band of “relaxed” heretics, doomed to the fire or
+strangulation at the stake, and clothed in zamarras of sheepskin,
+painted all over with devils and the portraits of their own faces
+surrounded by flames. These poor creatures wore also flame-adorned caps
+called corozas, shaped like bishops’ mitres, and were gagged with
+blocks of wood, lest they should contaminate the populace by some
+declaration of their heresy, while in their hands they bore tapers,
+which the monks who accompanied them relighted from time to time if
+they became extinguished.
+
+Now the hearts of Peter and Margaret leaped within them, for at the end
+of this hideous troop rode a man mounted on an ass, clothed in a
+zamarra and coroza, but with a noose about his neck. So the Fray
+Henriques had told the truth, for without doubt this was John Castell.
+Like people in a dream, they saw him advance in his garb of shame, and
+after him, gorgeously attired, civil officers, inquisitors, and
+familiars of noble rank, members of the Council of Inquisition, behind
+whom was borne a flaunting banner, called the Holy Standard of the
+Faith.
+
+Now Castell was opposite to the little group of seamen, and, or so it
+seemed, something went wrong with the harness of the ass on which he
+sat, for it stopped, and a man in the garb of a secretary stepped to
+it, apparently to attend to a strap, thus bringing all the procession
+behind to a halt, while that in front proceeded off the quay and round
+the corner of a street. Whatever it might be that had happened, it
+necessitated the dismounting of the heretic, who was pulled roughly off
+the brute’s back, which, as though in joy at this riddance of its
+burden, lifted its head and brayed loudly.
+
+Men from the thin line of crowd that edged the quay came forward as
+though to help, and among them were several in capes, such as were worn
+by the sailors of the Margaret. The officers and grandees behind
+shouted, “Forward!—forward!” whereon those attending to the ass hustled
+it and its rider a little nearer to the water’s edge, while the guards
+ran back to explain what had happened. Then suddenly a confusion arose,
+of which it was impossible to distinguish the cause, and next instant
+Margaret and Peter, still gripping each other, saw the man who had been
+seated on the ass being dragged rapidly down the steps of the quay, at
+the foot of which lay the boat of the Margaret.
+
+The mate at the helm saw also, for he blew his whistle, a sign at which
+the anchor was slipped—there was no time to lift it—and men who were
+waiting on the yards loosed the lashings of certain sails, so that
+almost immediately the ship began to move.
+
+Now they were fighting on the quay. The heretic was in the boat, and
+most of the sailors; but others held back the crowd of priests and
+armed familiars who strove to get at him. One, a priest with a sword in
+his hand, slipped past them and tumbled into the boat also. At last all
+were in save a single man, who was attacked by three adversaries—John
+Smith, the captain. The oars were out, but his mates waited for him. He
+struck with his sword, and some one fell. Then he turned to run. Two
+masked familiars sprang at him, one landing on his back, one clinging
+to his neck. With a desperate effort he cast himself into the water,
+dragging them with him. One they saw no more, for Smith had stabbed
+him, the other floated up near the boat, which already was some yards
+from the quay, and a sailor battered him on the head with an oar, so
+that he sank.
+
+Smith had vanished also, and they thought he must be drowned. The
+sailors thought it too, for they began to give way, when suddenly a
+great brown hand appeared and clasped the stern-sheets, while a
+bull-voice roared:
+
+“Row on, lads, I’m right enough.”
+
+Row they did indeed, till the ashen oars bent like bows, only two of
+them seized the officer who had sprung into the boat and flung him
+screaming into the river, where he struggled a while, for he could not
+swim, gripping at the air with his hands, then disappeared. The boat
+was in mid-stream now, and shaping her course round the bow of the
+first hulk beyond which the prow of the Margaret began to appear, for
+the wind was fresh, and she gathered way every moment.
+
+“Let down the ladder, and make ready ropes,” shouted Peter.
+
+It was done, but not too soon, for next instant the boat was bumping on
+their side. The sailors in her caught the ropes and hung on, while the
+captain, Smith, half-drowned, clung to the stern-sheets, for the water
+washed over his head.
+
+“Save him first,” cried Peter. A man, running down the ladder, threw a
+noose to him, which Smith seized with one hand and by degrees worked
+beneath his arms. Then they tackled on to it, and dragged him bodily
+from the river to the deck, where he lay gasping and spitting out foam
+and water. By now the ship was travelling swiftly, so swiftly that
+Margaret was in an agony of fear lest the boat should be towed under
+and sink.
+
+But these sailor men knew their trade. By degrees they let the boat
+drop back till her bow was abreast of the ladder. Then they helped
+Castell forward. He gripped its rungs, and eager hands gripped him. Up
+he staggered, step by step, till at length his hideous, fiend-painted
+cap, his white face, whence the beard had been shaved, and his open
+mouth, in which still was fixed the wooden gag, appeared above the
+bulwarks, as the mate said afterwards, like that of a devil escaped
+from hell. They lifted him over, and he sank fainting in his daughter’s
+arms. Then one by one the sailors came up after him—none were missing,
+though two had been wounded, and were covered with blood. No, none were
+missing—God had brought them, every one, safe back to the deck of the
+Margaret.
+
+Smith, the captain, spat up the last of his river water and called for
+a cup of wine, which he drank; while Peter and Margaret drew the
+accursed gag from her father’s mouth, and poured spirit down his
+throat. Shaking the water from him like a great dog, but saying never a
+word, Smith rolled to the helm and took it from the mate, for the
+navigation of the river was difficult, and none knew it so well as he.
+Now they were abreast the famous Golden Tower, and a big gun was fired
+at them; but the shot went wide. “Look!” said Margaret, pointing to
+horsemen galloping southwards along the river’s bank.
+
+“Yes,” said Peter, “they go to warn the ports. God send that the wind
+holds, for we must fight our way to sea.”
+
+The wind did hold, indeed it blew ever more strongly from the north;
+but oh! that was a long, evil day. Hour after hour they sped forward
+down the widening river; now past villages, where knots of people waved
+weapons at them as they went; now by desolate marshes, plains, and
+banks clothed with pine.
+
+When they reached Bonanza the sun was low, and when they were off San
+Lucar it had begun to sink. Out into the wide river mouth, where the
+white waters tumbled on the narrow bar, rowed two great galleys to cut
+them off, very swift galleys, which it seemed impossible to escape.
+
+Margaret and Castell were sent below, the crew went to quarters, and
+Peter crept stiffly aft to where the sturdy Smith stood at the helm,
+which he would suffer no other man to touch. Smith looked at the sky,
+he looked at the shore, and the safe, open sea beyond. Then he bade
+them hoist more sail, all that she could carry, and looked grimly at
+the two galleys lurking like deerhounds in a pass, that hung on their
+oars in the strait channel, with the tumbling breakers on either side,
+through which no ship could sail. “What will you do?” asked Peter.
+“Master Peter,” he answered between his teeth, “when you fought the
+Spaniard yesterday I did not ask you what you were going to do. Hold
+your tongue, and leave me to my own trade.”
+
+The Margaret was a swift ship, but never yet had she moved so swiftly.
+Behind her shrilled the gale, for now it was no less. Her stout masts
+bent like fishing poles, her rigging creaked and groaned beneath the
+weight of the bellying canvas, her port bulwarks slipped along almost
+level with the water, so that Peter must lie down on the deck, for
+stand he could not, and watch it running by within three feet of him.
+
+The galleys drew up right across her path. Half a mile away they lay
+bow by bow, knowing well that no ship could pass the foaming shallows;
+lay bow by bow, waiting to board and cut down this little English crew
+when the Margaret shortened sail, as shorten sail she must. Smith
+yelled an order to the mate, and presently, red in the setting sun, out
+burst the flag of England upon the mainmast top, a sight at which the
+sailors cheered. He shouted another order, and up ran the last jib, so
+that now from time to time the port bulwarks dipped beneath the sea,
+and Peter felt salt water stinging his sore back.
+
+Thus did the Margaret shorten sail, and thus did she yield her to the
+great galleys of Spain.
+
+The captains of the galleys hung on. Was this foreigner mad, or
+ignorant of the river channel, they wondered, that he would sink with
+every soul there upon the bar? They hung on, waiting for that leopard
+flag and those bursting sails to come down; but they never stirred;
+only straight at them rushed the Margaret like a bull. She was not two
+furlongs away, and she held dead upon her course, till at last those
+galleys saw that she would not sink alone. Like a bull with shut eyes
+she held dead upon her furious course!
+
+Confusion arose upon the Spanish ships, whistles were blown, men
+shouted, overseers ran down the planks flogging the slaves, lifted oars
+shone red in the light of the dying sun as they beat the water wildly.
+The prows began to back and separate, five feet, ten feet, a dozen feet
+perhaps; then straight into that tiny streak of open water, like a
+stone from the hand of the slinger, like an arrow from a bow, rushed
+the wind-flung Margaret.
+
+What happened? Go ask it of the fishers of San Lucar and the pirates of
+Bonanza, where the tale has been told for generations. The great oars
+snapped like reeds, the slaves were thrown in crushed and mangled
+heaps, the tall deck of the port galley was ripped out of her like rent
+paper by the stout yards of the stooping Margaret, the side of the
+starboard galley rolled up like a shaving before a plane, and the
+Margaret rushed through.
+
+Smith, the captain, looked aft to where, ere they sank, the two great
+ships, like wounded swans, rolled and fluttered on the foaming bar.
+Then he put his helm about, called the carpenter, and asked what water
+she made.
+
+“None, Sir,” he answered; “but she will want new tarring. It was oak
+against eggshells, and we had the speed.”
+
+“Good!” said Smith, “shallows on either side; life or death, and I
+thought I could make room. Send the mate to the helm. I’ll have a
+sleep.”
+
+Then the sun vanished beneath the roaring open sea, and, escaped from
+all the power of Spain, the Margaret turned her scarred and splintered
+bow for Ushant and for England. ENVOI
+
+Ten years had gone by since Captain Smith took the good ship Margaret
+across the bar of the Guadalquiver in a very notable fashion. It was
+late May in Essex, and all the woods were green, and all the birds
+sang, and all the meadows were bright with flowers. Down in the lovely
+vale of Dedham there was a long, low house with many gables—a charming
+old house of red brick and timbers already black with age. It stood
+upon a little hill, backed with woods, and from it a long avenue of
+ancient oaks ran across the park to the road which led to Colchester
+and London. Down that avenue on this May afternoon an aged,
+white-haired man, with quick black eyes, was walking, and with him
+three children—very beautiful children—a boy of about nine and two
+little girls, who clung to his hand and garments and pestered him with
+questions.
+
+“Where are we going, Grandfather?” asked one little girl.
+
+“To see Captain Smith, my dear,” he answered.
+
+“I don’t like Captain Smith,” said the other little girl; “he is so
+fat, and says nothing.”
+
+“I do,” broke in the boy, “he gave me a fine knife to use when I am a
+sailor, and Mother does, and Father, yes, and Grandad too, because he
+saved him when the cruel Spaniards wanted to put him in the fire. Don’t
+you, Grandad?”
+
+“Yes, my dear,” answered the old man. “Look! there is a squirrel
+running over the grass; see if you can catch it before it reaches that
+tree.”
+
+Off went the children at full pelt, and the tree being a low one, began
+to climb it after the squirrel. Meanwhile John Castell, for it was he,
+turned through the park gate and walked to a little house by the
+roadside, where a stout man sat upon a bench contemplating nothing in
+particular. Evidently he expected his visitor, for he pointed to the
+place beside him, and, as Castell sat down, said:
+
+“Why didn’t you come yesterday, Master?”
+
+“Because of my rheumatism, friend,” he answered. “I got it first in the
+vaults of that accursed Holy House at Seville, and it grows on me year
+by year. They were very damp and cold, those vaults,” he added
+reflectively.
+
+“Many people found them hot enough,” grunted Smith, “also, there was
+generally a good fire at the end of them. Strange thing that we should
+never have heard any more of that business. I suppose it was because
+our Margaret was such a favourite with Queen Isabella who didn’t want
+to raise questions with England, or stir up dirty water.”
+
+“Perhaps,” answered Castell. “The water was dirty, wasn’t it?”
+
+“Dirty as a Thames mud-bank at low tide. Clever woman, Isabella. No one
+else would have thought of making a man ridiculous as she did by
+Morella when she gave his life to Betty, and promised and vowed on his
+behalf that he would acknowledge her as his lady. No fear of any
+trouble from him after that, in the way of plots for the Crown, or
+things of that sort. Why, he must have been the laughing-stock of the
+whole land—and a laughing-stock never does anything. You remember the
+Spanish saying, ‘King’s swords cut and priests’ fires burn, but
+street-songs kill quickest!’ I should like to learn more of what has
+become of them all, though, wouldn’t you, Master? Except Bernaldez, of
+course, for he’s been safe in Paris these many years, and doing well
+there, they say.”
+
+“Yes,” answered Castell, with a little smile—“that is, unless I had to
+go to Spain to find out.”
+
+Just then the three children came running up, bursting through the gate
+all together.
+
+“Mind my flower-bed, you little rogues,” shouted Captain Smith, shaking
+his stick at them, whereat they got behind him and made faces.
+
+“Where’s the squirrel, Peter?” asked Castell.
+
+“We hunted it out of the tree, Grandad, and right across the grass, and
+got round it by the edge of the brook, and then—”
+
+“Then what? Did you catch it?”
+
+“No, Grandad, for when we thought we had it sure, it jumped into the
+water and swam away.”
+
+“Other people in a fix have done that before,” said Castell, laughing,
+and bethinking him of a certain river quay.
+
+“It wasn’t fair,” cried the boy indignantly. “Squirrels shouldn’t swim,
+and if I can catch it I will put it in a cage.”
+
+“I think that squirrel will stop in the woods for the rest of its life,
+Peter.”
+
+“Grandad!—Grandad!” called out the youngest child from the gate,
+whither she had wandered, being weary of the tale of the squirrel,
+“there are a lot of people coming down the road on horses, such fine
+people. Come and see.”
+
+This news excited the curiosity of the old gentlemen, for not many fine
+people came to Dedham. At any rate both of them rose, somewhat stiffly,
+and walked to the gate to look. Yes, the child was right, for there,
+sure enough, about two hundred yards away, advanced an imposing
+cavalcade. In front of it, mounted on a fine horse, sat a still finer
+lady, a very large and handsome lady, dressed in black silks, and
+wearing a black lace veil that hung from her head. At her side was
+another lady, much muffled up as though she found the climate cold, and
+riding between them, on a pony, a gallant looking little boy. After
+these came servants, male and female, six or eight of them, and last of
+all a great wain, laden with baggage, drawn by four big Flemish horses.
+
+“Now, whom have we here?” ejaculated Castell, staring at them.
+
+Captain Smith stared too, and sniffed at the wind as he had often done
+upon his deck on a foggy morning.
+
+“I seem to smell Spaniards,” he said, “which is a smell I don’t like.
+Look at their rigging. Now, Master Castell, of whom does that barque
+with all her sails set remind you?”
+
+Castell shook his head doubtfully.
+
+“I seem to remember,” went on Smith, “a great girl decked out like a
+maypole running across white sand in that Place of Bulls at Seville—but
+I forgot, you weren’t there, were you?”
+
+Now a loud, ringing voice was heard speaking in Spanish, and commanding
+some one to go to yonder house and inquire where was the gate to the
+Old Hall. Then Castell knew at once.
+
+“It is Betty,” he said. “By the beard of Abraham, it is Betty.”
+
+“I think so too; but don’t talk of Abraham, Master. He is a dangerous
+man, Abraham, in these very Christian lands; say, ‘By the Keys of St.
+Peter,’ or, ‘By St. Paul’s infirmities.’”
+
+“Child,” broke in Castell, turning to one of the little girls, “run up
+to the Hall and tell your father and mother that Betty has come, and
+brought half Spain with her. Quickly now, and remember the name,
+Betty!”
+
+The child departed, wondering, by the back way; while Castell and Smith
+walked towards the strangers.
+
+“Can we assist you, Señora?” asked the former in Spanish.
+
+“Marchioness of Morella, if you please—” she began in the same
+language, then suddenly added in English, “Why, bless my eyes! If it
+isn’t my old master, John Castell, with white wool instead of black!”
+
+“It came white after my shaving by a sainted barber in the Holy House,”
+said Castell. “But come off that tall horse of yours, Betty, my dear—I
+beg your pardon—most noble and highly born Marchioness of Morella, and
+give me a kiss.”
+
+“That I will, twenty, if you like,” she answered, arriving in his arms
+so suddenly from on high, that had it not been for the sturdy support
+of Smith behind, they would both of them have rolled upon the ground.
+
+“Whose are those children?” she asked, when she had kissed Castell and
+shaken Smith by the hand. “But no need to ask, they have got my cousin
+Margaret’s eyes and Peter’s long nose. How are they?” she added
+anxiously.
+
+“You will see for yourself in a minute or two. Come, send on your
+people and baggage to the Hall, though where they will stow them all I
+don’t know, and walk with us.”
+
+Betty hesitated, for she had been calculating upon the effect of a
+triumphal entry in full state. But at that moment there appeared
+Margaret and Peter themselves—Margaret, a beautiful matron with a child
+in her arms, running, and Peter, looking much as he had always been,
+spare, long of limb, stern but for the kindly eyes, striding away
+behind, and after him sundry servants and the little girl Margaret.
+
+Then there arose a veritable babel of tongues, punctuated by
+embracings; but in the end the retinue and the baggage were got off up
+the drive, followed by the children and the little Spanish-looking boy,
+with whom they had already made friends, leaving only Betty and her
+closely muffled-up attendant. This attendant Peter contemplated for a
+while, as though there were something familiar to him in her general
+air.
+
+Apparently she observed his interest, for as though by accident she
+moved some of the wrappings that hid her face, revealing a single soft
+and lustrous eye and a few square inches of olive-coloured cheek. Then
+Peter knew her at once.
+
+“How are you, Inez?” he said, stretching out his hand with a smile, for
+really he was delighted to see her.
+
+“As well as a poor wanderer in a strange and very damp country can be,
+Don Peter,” she answered in her languorous voice, “and certainly
+somewhat the better for seeing an old friend whom last she met in a
+certain baker’s shop. Do you remember?”
+
+“Remember!” answered Peter. “It is not a thing I am likely to forget.
+Inez, what became of Fray Henriques? I have heard several different
+stories.”
+
+“One never can be sure,” she answered as she uncovered her smiling red
+lips; “there are so many dungeons in that old Moorish Holy House, and
+elsewhere, that it is impossible to keep count of their occupants,
+however good your information. All I know is that he got into trouble
+over that business, poor man. Suspicions arose about his conduct in the
+procession which the captain here will recall,” and she pointed to
+Smith. “Also, it is very dangerous for men in such positions to visit
+Jewish quarters and to write incautious letters—no, not the one you
+think of; I kept faith—but others, afterwards, begging for it back
+again, some of which miscarried.”
+
+“Is he dead then?” asked Peter.
+
+“Worse, I think,” she answered—“a living death, the ‘Punishment of the
+Wall.’”
+
+“Poor wretch!” said Peter, with a shudder.
+
+“Yes,” remarked Inez reflectively, “few doctors like their own
+medicine.”
+
+“I say, Inez,” said Peter, nodding his head towards Betty, “that
+marquis isn’t coming here, is he?”
+
+“In the spirit, perhaps, Don Peter, not otherwise.”
+
+“So he is really dead? What killed him?”
+
+“Laughter, I think, or, rather, being laughed at. He got quite well of
+the hurts you gave him, and then, of course, he had to keep the queen’s
+gage, and take the most noble lady yonder, late Betty, as his
+marchioness. He couldn’t do less, after she beat you off him with your
+own sword and nursed him back to life. But he never heard the last of
+it. They made songs about him in the streets, and would ask him how his
+godmother, Isabella, was, because she had promised and vowed on his
+behalf; also, whether the marchioness had broken any lances for his
+sake lately, and so forth.”
+
+“Poor man!” said Peter again, in tones of the deepest sympathy. “A
+cruel fate; I should have done better to kill him.”
+
+“Much; but don’t say so to the noble Betty, who thinks that he had a
+very happy married life under her protecting care. Really, he ate his
+heart out till even I, who hated him, was sorry. Think of it! One of
+the proudest men in Spain, and the most gallant, a nephew of the king,
+a pillar of the Church, his sovereigns’ plenipotentiary to the Moors,
+and on secret matters—the common mock of the vulgar, yes, and of the
+great too!”
+
+“The great! Which of them?”
+
+“Nearly all, for the queen set the fashion—I wonder why she hated him
+so?” Inez added, looking shrewdly at Peter; then without waiting for an
+answer, went on: “She did it very cleverly, by always making the most
+of the most honourable Betty in public, calling her near to her,
+talking with her, admiring her English beauty, and so forth, and what
+her Majesty did, everybody else did, until my exalted mistress nearly
+went off her head, so full was she of pride and glory. As for the
+marquis, he fell ill, and after the taking of Granada went to live
+there quietly. Betty went with him, for she was a good wife, and saved
+lots of money. She buried him a year ago, for he died slow, and gave
+him one of the finest tombs in Spain—it isn’t finished yet. That is all
+the story. Now she has brought her boy, the young marquis, to England
+for a year or two, for she has a very warm heart, and longed to see you
+all. Also, she thought she had better go away a while, for her son’s
+sake. As for me, now that Morella is dead, I am head of the
+household—secretary, general purveyor of intelligence, and anything
+else you like at a good salary.”
+
+“You are not married, I suppose?” asked Peter.
+
+“No,” Inez answered; “I saw so much of men when I was younger that I
+seem to have had enough of them. Or perhaps,” she went on, fixing that
+mild and lustrous eye upon him, “there was one of them whom I liked too
+well to wish——”
+
+She paused, for they had crossed the drawbridge and arrived opposite to
+the Old Hall. The gorgeous Betty and the fair Margaret, accompanied by
+the others, and talking rapidly, had passed through the wide doorway
+into its spacious vestibule. Inez looked after them, and perceived,
+standing like a guard at the foot of the open stair, that scarred suit
+of white armour and riven shield blazoned with the golden falcon,
+Isabella’s gift, in which Peter had fought and conquered the Marquis of
+Morella. Then she stepped back and contemplated the house critically.
+
+At each end of it rose a stone tower, built for the purposes of
+defence, and all around ran a deep moat. Within the circle of this
+moat, and surrounded by poplars and ancient yews, on the south side of
+the Hall lay a walled pleasaunce, or garden, of turf pierced by paths
+and planted with flowering hawthorns and other shrubs, and at the end
+of it, almost hidden in drooping willows, a stone basin of water.
+Looking at it, Inez saw at once that so far as the circumstances of
+climate and situation would allow, Peter, in the laying out of this
+place, had copied another in the far-off, southern city of Granada,
+even down to the details of the steps and seats. She turned to him and
+said innocently:
+
+“Sir Peter, are you minded to walk with me in that garden this pleasant
+evening? I do not see any window in yonder tower.”
+
+Peter turned red as the scar across his face, and laughed as he
+answered:
+
+“There may be one for all that. Get you into the house, dear Inez, for
+none can be more welcome there; but I walk no more alone with you in
+gardens.”
+
+
+
+
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