“Many people found them hot enough,” grunted Smith, “also, there was generally a good fire at the end of them. Strange thing that we should never have heard any more of that business. I suppose it was because our Margaret was such a favourite with Queen Isabella who didn’t want to raise questions with England, or stir up dirty water.”
“Perhaps,” answered Castell. “The water was dirty, wasn’t it?”
“Dirty as a Thames mud-bank at low tide. Clever woman, Isabella. No one else would have thought of making a man ridiculous as she did by Morella when she gave his life to Betty, and promised and vowed on his behalf that he would acknowledge her as his lady. No fear of any trouble from him after that, in the way of plots for the Crown, or things of that sort. Why, he must have been the laughing-stock of the whole land—and a laughing-stock never does anything. You remember the Spanish saying, ‘King’s swords cut and priests’ fires burn, but street-songs kill quickest!’ I should like to learn more of what has become of them all, though, wouldn’t you, Master? Except Bernaldez, of course, for he’s been safe in Paris these many years, and doing well there, they say.”
“Yes,” answered Castell, with a little smile—“that is, unless I had to go to Spain to find out.”
Just then the three children came running up, bursting through the gate all together.
“Mind my flower-bed, you little rogues,” shouted Captain Smith, shaking his stick at them, whereat they got behind him and made faces.
“Where’s the squirrel, Peter?” asked Castell.
“We hunted it out of the tree, Grandad, and right across the grass, and got round it by the edge of the brook, and then—”
“Then what? Did you catch it?”
“No, Grandad, for when we thought we had it sure, it jumped into the water and swam away.”