“If heavenly thrones are built of human blood and tears, what stone and mortar do they use in hell, I wonder?” Then, without pausing for an answer, she rose, saying that she was weary, curtseyed to d’Aguilar, her father and Peter, each in turn, and left the hall. When she had gone the talk flagged, and presently d’Aguilar asked for his men and horses and departed also, saying as he went: “Friend Castell, you will repeat my news to your good kinsman here. I pray for all your sakes that he may bow his head to what cannot be helped, and thus keep it safe upon his shoulders.” “What meant the man?” asked Peter, when the sound of the horses’ hoofs had died away. Castell told him of what had passed between him and d’Aguilar before supper, and showed him de Ayala’s receipt, adding in a vexed voice: “I have forgotten to repay him the gold; it shall be sent to-morrow.” “Have no fear; he will come for it,” answered Peter coldly. “Now, if I have my way, I will take the risk of these Spaniards’ swords and King Henry’s rope, and bide here.” “That you must not do,” said Castell earnestly, “for my sake and Margaret’s, if not for yours. Would you make her a widow before she is a wife? Listen: it is my wish that you travel down to Essex to take delivery of your father’s land in the Vale of Dedham and see to the repairing of the mansion house, which, I am told, needs it much. Then, when these Spaniards are gone, you can return and at once be married, say one short month hence.” “Will not you and Margaret come with me to Dedham?” Castell shook his head. “It is not possible. I must wind up my affairs, and Margaret cannot go with you alone. Moreover, there is no place for her to lodge. I will keep her here till you return.” “Yes, Sir; but will you keep her safe? The cozening words of Spaniards are sometimes more deadly than their swords.” “I think that Margaret has a medicine against all such arts,” answered her father with a little smile, and left him. On the morrow when Castell told Margaret that her lover must leave her for a while that night—for this Peter would not do himself—she prayed him even with tears that he would not send him so far from her, or that they might all go together. But he reasoned with her kindly, showing her that the latter was impossible, and that if Peter did not go at once it was probable that Peter would soon be dead, whereas, if he went, there would be but one short month of waiting till the Spaniards had sailed, after which they might be married and live in peace and safety. So she came to see that this was best and wisest, and gave way; but oh! heavy were those hours, and sore was their parting. Essex was no far journey, and to enter into lands which only two days before Peter believed he had lost for ever, no sad errand, while the promise that at the end of a single month he should return to claim his bride hung before them like a star. Yet they were sad-hearted, both of them, and that star seemed very far away.