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HOW PETER MET THE SPANIARD
JOHN CASTELL
PETER GATHERS VIOLETS
LOVERS DEAR
CASTELL'S SECRET
FAREWELL
NEWS FROM SPAIN
D'AGUILAR SPEAKS
THE SNARE
THE CHASE
THE MEETING ON THE SEA
FATHER HENRIQUES
THE ADVENTURE OF THE INN
INEZ AND HER GARDEN
PETER PLAYS A PART
BETTY SHOWS HER TEETH
THE PLOT
THE HOLY HERMANDAD
BETTY PAYS HER DEBTS
ISABELLA OF SPAIN
BETTY STATES HER CASE
THE DOOM OF JOHN CASTELL
FATHER HENRIQUES AND THE BAKER'S OVEN
THE FALCON STOOPS
HOW THE _MARGARET_ WON OUT TO SEA
ENVOI

 

Ah! her cousin, Peter Brome, was a man indeed, though a strange one, and 

remembering certain things that did not please her, she shrugged her 

ivory shoulders, turned red, and pouted. Why, that Spaniard had said 

more civil words to her in an hour than had Peter in two years, and he 

was handsome and noble-looking also; but then the Spaniard was--a 

Spaniard, and other men were--other men, whereas Peter was--Peter, a 

creature apart, one who cared as little for women as he did for trade. 

 

Why, then, if he cared for neither women nor trade, did he stop here? 

she wondered. To gather wealth? She did not think it; he seemed to have 

no leanings that way either. It was a mystery. Still, she could wish to 

get to the bottom of Peter's heart, just to see what was hid there, 

since no man has a right to be a riddle to his loving cousin. Yes, and 

one day she would do it, cost what it might. 

 

Meanwhile, she remembered that she had never thanked Peter for the brave 

part which he had played, and, indeed, had left him to walk home with 

Betty, a journey that, as she gathered from her sprightly cousin's talk 

while she undressed her, neither of them had much enjoyed. For Betty, be 

it said here, was angry with Peter, who, it seemed, once had told her 

that she was a handsome, silly fool, who thought too much of men and too 

little of her business. Well, since after the day's work had begun she 

would find no opportunity, she would go down and thank Peter now, and 

see if she could make him talk for once. 

 

So Margaret threw her fur-trimmed cloak about her, drawing its hood over 

her head, for the April air was cold, and followed Peter into the 

garden. When she reached it, however, there was no Peter to be seen, 

whereon she reproached herself for having come to that damp place so 

early and meditated return. Then, thinking that it would look foolish if 

any had chanced to see her, she walked down the path pretending to seek 

for violets, and found none. Thus she came to the group of great elms at 

the end, and, glancing between their ancient boles, saw Peter standing 

there. Now, too, she understood why she could find no violets, for Peter 

had gathered them all, and was engaged, awkwardly enough, in trying to 

tie them and some leaves into a little posy by the help of a stem of 

grass. With his left hand he held the violets, with his right one end of 

the grass, and since he lacked fingers to clasp the other, this he 

attempted with his teeth. Now he drew it tight, and now the brittle 


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