“Then you know that a Marano is a converted Jew. Now, as it chances—I tell you who do not break secrets—my father was a Marano. His name does not matter—it is best forgotten; but he fled from Spain to England for reasons of his own, and took that of the country whence he came—Castile, or Castell. Also, as it is not lawful for Jews to live in England, he became converted to the Christian faith—seek not to know his motives, they are buried with him. Moreover, he converted me, his only child, who was but ten years old, and cared little whether I swore by ‘Father Abraham’ or by the ‘Blessed Mary.’ The paper of my baptism lies in my strong box still. Well, he was clever, and built up this business, and died unharmed five-and-twenty years ago, leaving me already rich. That same year I married an Englishwoman, your mother’s second cousin, and loved her and lived happily with her, and gave her all her heart could wish. But after Margaret’s birth, three-and-twenty years gone by, she never had her health, and eight years ago she died. You remember her, since she brought you here when you were a stout lad, and made me promise afterwards that I would always be your friend, for except your father, Sir Peter, none other of your well-born and ancient family were left. So when Sir Peter—against my counsel, staking his all upon that usurping rogue Richard, who had promised to advance him, and meanwhile took his money—was killed at Bosworth, leaving you landless, penniless, and out of favour, I offered you a home, and you, being a wise man, put off your mail and put on woollen and became a merchant’s partner, though your share of profit was but small. Now, again you have changed staff for steel,” and he glanced at the Scotchman’s sword that still lay upon a side table, “and Margaret has loosed that rock of which I spoke to her.” “What is the rock, Sir?” “That Spaniard whom she brought home and found so fine.” “What of the Spaniard?” “Wait a while and I will tell you.” And, taking a lamp, he left the room, returning presently with a letter which was written in cipher, and translated upon another sheet in John Castell’s own hand.