LITMIR.BIZ

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a lamp was visible; the rest of the mansion was dark, as if, save in that chamber, sleep kept watch over the inmates. It was to this window that the Moor stole; and, after a moment’s pause, he murmured rather than sang, so low and whispered was his voice, the following simple verses, slightly varied from an old Arabian poet:—

              Light of my soul, arise, arise!

              Thy sister lights are in the skies;

                   We want thine eyes,

                   Thy joyous eyes;

              The Night is mourning for thine eyes!

              The sacred verse is on my sword,

              But on my heart thy name

              The words on each alike adored;

              The truth of each the same,

              The same!—alas! too well I feel

              The heart is truer than the steel!

              Light of my soul! upon me shine;

              Night wakes her stars to envy mine.

                   Those eyes of thine,

                   Wild eyes of thine,

              What stars are like those eyes of thine?

      As he concluded, the lattice softly opened; and a female form appeared on the balcony.

      “Ah, Leila!” said the Moor, “I see thee, and I am blessed!”

      “Hush!” answered Leila; “speak low, nor tarry long I fear that our interviews are suspected; and this,” she added in a trembling voice, “may perhaps be the last time we shall meet.”

      “Holy Prophet!” exclaimed Muza, passionately, “what do I hear? Why this mystery? why cannot I learn thine origin, thy rank, thy parents? Think you, beautiful Leila, that Granada holds a rouse lofty enough to disdain the alliance with Muza Ben Abil Gazan? and oh!” he added (sinking the haughty tones of his voice into accents of the softest tenderness), “if not too high to scorn me, what should war against our loves and our bridals? For worn equally on my heart were the flower of thy sweet self, whether the mountain top or the valley gave birth to the odour and the bloom.”

      “Alas!” answered Leila, weeping, “the mystery thou complainest of is as dark to myself as thee. How often have I told thee that I know nothing of my birth or childish fortunes, save a dim memory of a more distant and burning clime; where, amidst sands and wastes, springs the everlasting cedar, and the camel grazes on stunted herbage withering in the fiery air? Then, it seemed to me that I had a mother: fond eyes looked on me, and soft songs hushed me into sleep.”

      “Thy mother’s soul has passed into mine,” said the Moor, tenderly.

      Leila continued:—“Borne hither, I passed from childhood into youth within these walls. Slaves ministered to my slightest wish; and those who have seen both state and poverty, which I have not, tell me that treasures and splendour, that might glad a monarch, are prodigalised around me: but of ties and kindred know I little: my father, a stern and silent man, visits me but rarely—sometimes months pass, and I see him not; but I feel he loves me; and, till I knew thee, Muza, my brightest hours were in listening to the footsteps and flying to the arms of that solitary friend.”

      “Know you not his name?”

      “Nor, I nor any one of the household; save perhaps Ximen, the chief of the slaves, an old and withered man, whose very eye chills me into fear and silence.”

      “Strange!” said the Moor, musingly; “yet why think you our love is discovered, or can be thwarted?”

      “Hush! Ximen sought me this day: ‘Maiden,’ said he, ‘men’s footsteps have been tracked within the gardens; if your sire know this, you will have looked your last on Granada. Learn,’ he added, in a softer voice, as he saw me tremble, ‘that permission were easier given to thee to wed the wild tiger than to mate with the loftiest noble of Morisca! Beware!’ He spoke, and left me. O Muza!” she continued, passionately wringing her hands, “my heart sinks within me, and omen and doom rise dark before my sight!”

      “By my father’s head, these obstacles but fire my love, and I would scale to thy possession, though every step in the ladder were the corpses of a hundred foes!”

      Scarcely had the fiery and high-souled Moor uttered his boast, than, from some unseen hand amidst the groves, a javelin whirred past him, and as the air it raised came sharp upon his cheek, half buried its quivering shaft in the trunk of a tree behind him.

      “Fly, fly, and save thyself! O God, protect him!” cried Leila; and she vanished within the chamber.

      The Moor did not wait the result of a deadlier aim; he turned; yet, in the instinct of his fierce nature, not from, but against, the foe; his drawn scimitar in his hand, the half-suppressed cry of wrath trembling on his lips, he sprang forward in the direction the javelin had sped. With eyes accustomed to the ambuscades of Moorish warfare, he searched eagerly, yet warily through the dark and sighing foliage. No sign of life met his gaze; and at length, grimly and reluctantly, he retraced his steps, and quitted the demesnes; but just as he had cleared the wall, a voice—low, but sharp and shrill—came from the gardens.

      “Thou art spared,” it said, “but, haply, for a more miserable doom!”

      CHAPTER IV. THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER

      The chamber into which Leila retreated bore out the character she had given of the interior of her home. The fashion of its ornament and decoration was foreign to that adopted by the Moors of Granada. It had a more massive and, if we may use the term, Egyptian gorgeousness. The walls were covered with the stuffs of the East, stiff with gold, embroidered upon ground of the deepest purple; strange characters, apparently in some foreign tongue, were wrought in the tesselated cornices and on the heavy ceiling, which was supported by square pillars, round which were twisted serpents of gold and enamel, with eyes to which enormous emeralds gave a green and lifelike glare: various scrolls and musical instruments lay scattered upon marble tables: and a solitary lamp of burnished silver cast a dim and subdued light around the chamber. The effect of the whole, though splendid, was gloomy, strange, and oppressive, and rather suited to the thick and cave-like architecture which of old protected the inhabitants of Thebes and Memphis from the rays of the African sun, than to the transparent heaven and light pavilions of the graceful orientals of Granada.

      Leila stood within this chamber, pale and breathless, with her lips apart, her hands clasped, her very soul in her ears; nor was it possible to conceive a more perfect ideal of some delicate and brilliant Peri, captured in the palace of a hostile and gloomy Genius. Her form was of the lightest shape consistent with the roundness of womanly beauty; and there was something in it of that elastic and fawnlike grace which a sculptor seeks to embody in his dreams of a being more aerial than those of earth. Her luxuriant hair was dark indeed, but a purple and glossy hue redeemed it from that heaviness of shade too common in the tresses of the Asiatics; and her complexion, naturally pale but clear and lustrous, would have been deemed fair even in the north. Her features, slightly aquiline, were formed in the rarest mould of symmetry, and her full rich lips disclosed teeth that might have shamed the pearl. But the chief charm of that exquisite countenance was in an expression of softness and purity, and intellectual sentiment, that seldom accompanies that cast of loveliness, and was wholly foreign to the voluptuous and dreamy languor of Moorish maidens; Leila had been educated, and the statue had received a soul.

      After a few minutes of intense suspense, she again stole to the lattice, gently unclosed it, and looked forth. Far, through an opening amidst the trees, she descried for a single moment the erect and stately figure of her lover, darkening the moonshine on the sward, as now, quitting his fruitless search, he turned his lingering gaze towards the lattice of his beloved: the thick and interlacing foliage quickly hid him from her eyes; but Leila had seen enough—she turned within, and said, as grateful

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