“Sir,” said Peter, speaking for the first time, “we would have a private word with you.”
“A private word,” he said, looking up anxiously. “Well, speak on. No, this place is not private; I think its walls have ears. Follow me,” and he led the way into the old chapel, whereof, when they had all passed it, he bolted the door. “Now,” he said, “what is it?”
“Sir,” answered Peter, standing before him, “having your leave at last, I asked your daughter in marriage this morning.”
“At least you lose no time, friend Peter; unless you had called her from her bed and made your offer through the door you could not have done it quicker. Well, well, you ever were a man of deeds, not words, and what says my Margaret?”
“An hour ago she said she was content,” answered Peter.
“A cautious man also,” went on Castell with a twinkle in his eye, “who remembers that women have been known to change their minds within an hour. After such long thought, what say you now, Margaret?”
“That I am angry with Peter,” she answered, stamping her small foot, “for if he does not trust me for an hour, how can he trust me for his life and mine?”
“Nay, Margaret, you do not understand me,” said Peter. “I wished not to bind you, that is all, in case——”
“Now you are saying it again,” she broke in vexed, and yet amused. “Do so a third time, and I will take you at your word.”
“It seems best that I should remain silent. Speak you,” said Peter humbly.