Fair Margaret

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 13, 28 September 1907, Page 17

Fair Margaret

By

Rider Haggard

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 nobels and they threw their cape into the air, and shouted themselves hoarse.

The King himself, although he was still young in years, already a wearylooking 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 l>e 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 ally 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 lie directed early into sueh paths as their royal parents and governors considered likely to prove most profitable to themselves.

At the Ambassador’s lett 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 rei cmblance, often far off and fanciful enough, to some bcant or bird or other creature, and certainly in this ease it was not hard to discover. The man resembled an eagle, which, whether by chance or design, was the erest 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; “ Senor, here in England, if it pleases your Excellency,” he answered gravely, “ Senor d’Aguilar. The marquis you mentioned ilves in Spain—an accredited envoy to the Moors of Granada; the Senor 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, Senor d’Aguilar, as I know that you have abadoned 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 Senor d’Aguilar smiled a little as replied.

“ You said, I think, that sometimes 1 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 lie born too high and yet not altogether rightly, very dangerous. The acorn of ambition very often grows into an oak from which men hang.” “Or a log upon which men’s heads ran be cut off. Senor, 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 Chureb, 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, Senor, you have not told me what you think of all this ceremony and people.” “ The people 1 know well. Excellency, for I dwelt among them in past years and speak their language; and that is why I left Granada to look after itself for a while, and am here to-day, to watch and maty report ” He checked himself, and 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 1 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 1 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 d*- 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. Senor! for we stop the wav.’’

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, end there was frost in the tir. On the open space opposite t e banquetting hell, 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 later 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-sha-ven cheeks, the right, was marred by the long, red sear 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, hut 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 curling 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 curving 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 l>efore he could forget them, especially if he -were privileged to see how well they matched the hair of chestnut, shading into black, that waved about 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 might 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. “O! 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, broke 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 dis covered. 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 a s a wait-ing-woman, and was without fortune. For the rest, she loved and admired her cousin Margaret more than anyone 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 someone who is more kind.” Then she turned, and began to make her way ns 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 banquetinghnll. where the grooms with horses and soldiers were assembled waiting 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 r.lone 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 o'r 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 a woman who appeared to be young and pretty before him, 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, easting his long arms about her, he strove to draw her to him.

“ 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 seemedas though suddenly be 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 on 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 was 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, with 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 dowt it came, this time full on Andrew’s head, which it shattered like an eggshell, 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 snatch sd 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 sol-dier-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 that against so many he had no ehance.

“Englishmen,” he cried in ringing tones, but without shifting his head or glance, “will you sec me murdered by these Spanish dogs’”

There was a moment’s pans”, then a voice ladiind 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 j'ou; 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 senor, who had been standing in the shadow and watching all that passed, walked between the opposing lines, as he went striking up the swords w-ith 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 1 tell you w-ho 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 onee 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 m an 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 Hen ry. looking at him. “But how- comes P that Peter Brome’s son, who wears that battle sear 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, Pfeter 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 riots in my streets and bringing me into trouble with my good friends lhe 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,” said Peter, “I live at Master Castell’s house in Holborn, nor shall T run away.” ‘Who will answer for that,? said the king, “or that you will p.ot 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 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 thr.t dead man be laid in the Abbey till to-morrow, when this matter shall be inqi ired of. Excellency, give me your arm; I have greater questions of which I wish to speak with you ere we sleep.’

CHAPTER 11. 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 G.ace. 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 senor ” 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. “Senor d'Aguilar, I thank you, and so doos 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, Sir,” answered d’Aguilar, with a smile, “that we eannot 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 not I with yon, might wavlay you.”

Now, seeing from his face that Peter was still bent upon declining this escort. Margaret interposed qiuckly: “Yes, that is wisest, also my father would wish it. Senor. I will show you the way,” and, accompanied by d’Aguilar, who gallantly offered her hie arm,

she stepped forward (leaving Peter to follow with her cousin Betty. TJhus /they (walked Jin the twilight across the fields, and through the narrow streets beyond that lay between Westminster and Holborn. In front tripped Mjargaret 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 license, 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 livingrooms 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 il, 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 Senor 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, darkibearded man (of jbe tween 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 rolie ■trimmed with 'the costliest fur. and fastened with a gold chain that had a jewel on ils 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 Lead of them, and the bodyguard of his Excellency, de Ayala. You arrested by the king, and bailed out by this senor. 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

Feter. “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 tjien—then that brute,” an i her eyes filled with tears of shame and anger, “caught hold of me, and Peter threw him down, and afterwards, when le attacked him with a sword, Petrr killed him with his staff, and—■ all the rest happened.” “tl 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 1 el'ore he could thrust again—ah! that ”

“Well, well,” said Castell, “let us eat first and talk afterwards. Senor 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. A.t least, I could get little to eat. and, therefore, like the Senor 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 w’ould give the senor 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. “1 did not think at all, Senor,” he answered; “but, alas! every one is not a Christian. Tn 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; lam an English merchant. But try that wine, Senor; 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, Senor d’Aguilar?” asked Castell. “Sometimes, when 1 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. Senora?” he asked, turning to Margaret as though to change the subject. “There is a wonderful building there called the Alhambra; it overlooks ray 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. ami 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 a few words, yet omit I ing nothing. “1 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 1 blame, for I only gave her leave to walk with you and Betty by the river, and l*ade 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 lalaid by the heels in a dungeon over this business, ves. and put upon his trial for causing the man's death. Rememla-r. In- 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 1 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: “Senor, you who are so powerful, and the friend of great people, will you not help us?” “Am 1 not here to do so, Senora? 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, Senor Castell?”

“Yes,” answered the merchant; “but how am Ito get at de Puebia? If I were to offer him money, he would only ask more.”

“1 see that you know his Excellency,” remarked d’Aguilar drily. “You are right, no money must 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 spokeil.”

At this speech Castell’s eyelids flickered, but he only answered: “May be; but how shall I approach him. Senor?”

“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. be was the assailant, and nothing should l>e paid at all.” “Ah! Senor, the merchant is coming out in you; also the dangerous man who thinks that right should ride the world, not kings—l 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, Senor, for your good oilices. Will vou take the nionev now?”

“By no means; not till 1 bring Die debt discharged. Senor, I will come again and let you know how matters stand. Far. well, 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 <L the room in change of a man-servant.

"’Thomas,” said Castell to this servant when he returned, “you are a discreet fellow; put on your cap and cloak, and follow that Spaniard, see where he lodges, ami 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. 1 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 roek. Go to your bed and pray God that it may not fall upon y our 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 eavali")? 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 1 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 —1 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 trie 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,” lie said, “is from my partner and relative, .Tuan Bernandez, a Marano, who lives at Seville, where Ferdinand and Isabella have their court. Among other matters he writes thus: ‘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 verypowerful and high-born man. and. although he appears to be a pleasure-seek-er only, and i s certainly of a dissolute life, among the greatest bigots in all Spain, lias 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 rieh 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 b? 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 ndded 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 tire in England, and Englishmen will not suffer their Spanish laws and ways. Perhaps the Senor d’Aguilar learned as much as that to-night outside the ban-queting-hall. There is something to be feared from this brawl at home; but while we are safe in London, no more from Spain.” “1 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 Hashed. “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?”

(To be continued.)