“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.