“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.”