“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.