“Aye, for truly you are a master of silence, as I should know, if any do,” replied Margaret, bethinking her of the weary months and years of waiting. “Well, I will answer for you.—Father, Peter was right; I am content to marry him, though to do so will be to enter the Order of the Silent Brothers. Yes, I am content; not for himself, indeed, who has so many faults, but for myself, who chance to love him,” and she smiled sweetly enough.
“Do not jest on such matters, Margaret.”
“Why not, father? Peter is solemn enough for both of us—look at him. Let us laugh while we may, for who knows when tears may come?”
“A good saying,” answered Castell with a sigh. “So you two have plighted your troth, and, my children, I am glad of it, for who knows when those tears of which Margaret spoke may come, and then you can wipe away each other’s? Take now her hand, Peter, and swear by the Rood, that symbol which you worship”—here Peter glanced at him, but he went on—“swear, both of you that come what may, together or separate, through good report or evil report, through poverty or wealth, through peace or persecutions, through temptation or through blood, through every good or ill that can befall you in this world of bittersweet, you will remain faithful to your troth until you be wed, and after you are wed, faithful to each other till death do part you.”
These words he spoke to them in a voice that was earnest almost to passion, searching their faces the while with his quick eyes as though he would read their very hearts. His mood crept from him to them; once again they felt something of that fear which had fallen on them in the garden when they passed into the shadow of the Spaniard. Very solemnly then, and with little of true lovers’ joy, did they take each other’s hands and swear by the Cross and Him Who hung on it, that through these things, and all others they could not foretell, they would, if need were, be faithful to the death.
“And beyond it also,” added Peter; while Margaret bowed her stately head in sweet assent.
“Children,” said Castell, “you will be rich—few richer in this land—though mayhap it would be wise that you should not show all your wealth at once, or ape the place of a great house, lest envy should fall upon your heads and crush you. Be content to wait, and rank will find you in its season, or if not you, your children. Peter, I tell you now, lest I should forget it, that the list of all my moneys and other possessions in chattels or lands or ships or merchandise is buried beneath the floor of my office, just under where my chair stands. Lift the boards and dig away a foot of rubbish, and you will find a stone trap, and below an iron box with the deeds, inventories, and some very precious jewels. Also, if by any mischance that box should be lost, duplicates of nearly all these papers are in the hands of my good friend and partner in our inland British trade, Simon Levett, whom you know. Remember my words, both of you.”
“Father,” broke in Margaret in an anxious voice, “why do you speak of the future thus?—I mean, as though you had no share in it? Do you fear aught?”
“Yes, daughter, much, or rather I expect, I do not fear, who am prepared and desire to meet all things as they come. You have sworn that oath, have you not? And you will keep it, will you not?”
“Aye!” they answered with one breath.