Their prayer finished, they sat together on the seat, now talking, and now silent in their joy, while all too fast the time wore on. At length—it was after one of these spells of blissful silence—a change came over them, such a change as falls upon some peaceful scene when, unexpected and complete, a black stormcloud sweeps across the sun, and, in place of its warm light, pours down gloom full of the promise of tempest and of rain. Apprehension got a hold of them. They were both afraid of what they could not guess. “Come,” she said, “it is time to go in. My father will miss us.” So without more words or endearments they rose and walked side by side out of the shelter of the elms into the open garden. Their heads were bent, for they were lost in thought, and thus it came about that Margaret saw her feet pass suddenly into the shadow of a man, and, looking up, perceived standing in front of her, grave, alert, amused, none other than the Señor d’Aguilar. She uttered a little stifled scream, while Peter, with the impulse that causes a brave and startled hound to rush at that which frightens it, gave a leap forward towards the Spaniard. “Mother of God! do you take me for a thief?” he asked in a laughing voice, as he stepped to one side to avoid him. “Your pardon,” said Peter, shaking himself together; “but you surprised us appearing so suddenly where we never thought to see you.” “Any more than I thought to see you here, for this seems a strange place to linger on so cold a morning,” and he looked at them again with his curious, mocking eyes that appeared to read the secret of their souls, while they grew red as roses beneath his scrutiny. “Permit me to explain,” he went on. “I came here thus early on your service, to warn you, Master Peter, not to go abroad to-day, since a writ is out for your arrest, and as yet I have had no time to quash it by friendly settlement. Well, as it chanced, I met that handsome lady who was with you yesterday, returning from her marketing—a friendly soul—she says she is your cousin. She brought me to the house, and having learned that your father, whom I wished to see, was at his prayers, good man, in the old chapel, led me to its door and left me to seek him. I entered, but could not find him, so, having waited a while, strayed into this garden through the open door, purposing to walk here till some one should appear, and, you see, I have been fortunate beyond my expectations or deserts.” “So!” said Peter shortly, for the man’s manner and elaborated explanations filled him with disgust. “Let us seek Master Castell that he may hear the story.” “And we thank you much for coming to warn us,” murmured Margaret. “I will go find my father,” and she slipped past him towards the door. d’Aguilar watched her enter it, then turned to Peter and said: