“As free as air—especially the Señora Betty,” he added with a little smile, “for to speak truth, there is something in that woman’s eyes which frightens me at times. I think that she has a long memory. Within an hour of our marriage you shall look down from your window and see them depart under escort, every one, to go whither they will.” “Nay,” answered Margaret, “it is not enough. I should need to see them go before, and then, if I consented, not till the sun had set would I pay the price of their ransom.” “Then do you consent? he asked eagerly. “My lord Marquis, it would seem that I must. My betrothed has played me false. For a month or more I have been prisoner in your palace, which I understand has no good name, and, if I refuse, you tell me that all of us will be cast into yonder dungeons to be sold as slaves or die prisoners of the Moors. My lord Marquis, fate and you leave me but little choice. On this day week I will marry you, but blame me not if you find me other than you think, as you have found my cousin whom you befooled. Till then, also, I pray you that you will leave me quite untroubled. If you have arrangements to make or commands to send, the woman Inez yonder will serve as messenger, for of her I know the worst.” “I will obey you in all things, Dona Margaret,” he answered humbly. “Do you desire to see your father or—” and he paused. “Neither of them,” she answered. “I will write to them and send my letters by this Inez. Why should I see them,” she added passionately, “who have done with the old days when I was free and happy, and am about to become the wife of the most noble Marquis of Morella, that honourable grandee of Spain, who tricked a poor girl by a false promise of marriage, and used her blind and loving folly to trap and steal me from my home? My lord, till this day week I bid you farewell,” and, walking from the arcade to the fountain, she called aloud to Betty to accompany her to their rooms. The week for which Margaret had bargained had gone by. All was prepared. Inez had shown to Morella the letters that his bride to be wrote to her father and to Peter Brome; also the answers, imploring and passionate, to the same. But there were other letters and other answers which she had not shown. It was afternoon, swift horses were ready in the courtyard, and with them an escort, while, disguised as Moors, Castell and Peter waited under guard in a chamber close at hand. Betty, dressed in the robes of a Moorish woman, and thickly veiled, stood before Morella, to whom Inez had led her. “I come to tell you,” she said, “that at sundown, three hours after we have passed beneath her window, my cousin and mistress will wait to be made your wife, but if you try to disturb her before then she will be no wife of yours, or any man’s.”