“But what of this Inez?” asked Margaret, bewildered.
“She will look after herself,” answered Inez. “Perchance, if all goes well, you will let me ride with you. And now I dare stop no longer, I go to see your father, the Señor Castell, and if anything can be arranged, we will talk again. Meanwhile, Dona Margaret, your affianced is nearly well again at last and sends his heart’s love to you, and, I counsel you, when Morella speaks turn a gentle ear to him.”
Then with another deep curtsey she glided to the door, unlocked it, and left the room.
An hour later Inez was being led by an old Jew, dressed in a Moslem robe and turban, through one of the most tortuous and crowded parts of Granada. It would seem that this Jew was known there, for his appearance, accompanied by a veiled woman, apparently caused no surprise to those followers of the Prophet that he met, some of whom, indeed, saluted him with humility.
“These children of Mahomet seem to love you, Father Israel,” said Inez.
“Yes, yes, my dear,” answered the old fellow with a chuckle; “they owe me money, that is why, and I am getting it in before the great war comes with the Spaniards, so they would sweep the streets for me with their beards—all of which is very good for the plans of our friend yonder. Ah! he who has crowns in his pocket can put a crown upon his head; there is nothing that money will not do in Granada. Give me enough of it, and I will buy his sultana from the king.”
“This Castell has plenty?” asked Inez shortly.
“Plenty, and more credit. He is one of the richest men in England. But why do you ask? He would not think of you, who is too troubled about other things.”
Inez only laughed bitterly, but did not resent the words. Why should she? It was not worth while.
“I know,” she answered, “but I mean to earn some of it all the same, and I want to be sure that there is enough for all of us.”