“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.”