have, indeed,
again been doomed to captivity, but my persecutor, I blush to say, was
this time a Christian prince."

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Iskander. "Who can this villain be?"

"The villain, Lord Iskander, is your friend; and your pupil, dear
father."

"Nicaeus of Athens!" exclaimed Hunniades.

Iskander was silent and melancholy.

Thereupon the Lady Iduna recounted to her father and Iskander, sitting
between them on the margin of the fount, all that had occurred to her,
since herself and Nicaeus parted with Iskander; nor did she omit to
relate to Hunniades all the devotion of Iskander, respecting which,
like a truly brave man, he had himself been silent. The great Hunniades
scarcely knew which rather to do, to lavish his affection on his beloved
child, or his gratitude upon Iskander. Thus they went on conversing
for some time, Iskander placing his own cloak around Iduna, and almost
unconsciously winding his arm around her unresisting form.

Just as they were preparing to return to the Christian camp, a great
noise was heard in the grove, and presently, in the direction whence
Iduna had arrived, there came a band of men bearing torches and
examining the grove in all directions in great agitation. Iskander and
Hunniades stood upon their guard, but soon perceived they were Greeks.
Their leader, seeing a group near the fountain, advanced to make
inquiries respecting the object of his search, but when he indeed
recognised the persons who formed the group, the torch fell from his
grasp, and he turned away his head and hid his face in his hands.

Iduna clung to her father; Iskander stood with his eyes fixed upon the
ground, but Hunniades, stern and terrible, disembarrassing himself of
the grasp of his daughter, advanced and laid his hand upon the stranger.

"Young man," said the noble father, "were it contrition instead of shame
that inspired this attitude, it might be better. I have often warned you
of the fatal consequences of a reckless indulgence of the passions.
More than once I have predicted to you, that however great might be your
confidence in your ingenuity and your resources, the hour would arrive
when such a career would place you in a position as despicable as it was
shameful. That hour has arrived, and that position is now filled by the
Prince of Athens. You stand before the three individuals in this world
whom you have most injured, and whom you were most bound to love and to
protect. Here is a frie