clear brow and unfaltering eye,
with an expression of sympathy and even kindness on his countenance, met
her searching look.

'No,' she said; 'it is impossible that you can be false.'

'Why should I be false? or what is it that mixes up my name and life
with these thoughts and circumstances?'

'Why should you be false? Ah! there it is,' said Astarte, in a sweet and
mournful voice. 'What are any of us to you!' And she wept.

'It grieves me to see you in sorrow,' said Tancred, approaching her, and
speaking in a tone of kindness.

'I am more than sorrowful: this unhappy lady----' and the voice of
Astarte was overpowered by her emotion.

'You will send her back in safety and with honour to her family,' said
Tancred, soothingly. 'I would fain believe her father has not fallen.
My intendant assures me that there are Turkish soldiers here who saw him
borne from the field. A little time, and their griefs will vanish. You
will have the satisfaction of having acted with generosity, with that
good heart which characterises you; and as for the daughter of Besso,
all will be forgotten as she gives one hand to her father and the other
to her husband.'

'It is too late,' said Astarte in an almost sepulchral voice.

'What is that?'

'It is too late! The daughter of Besso is no more.'

'Jesu preserve us!' exclaimed Tancred, starting. 'Speak it again: what
is it that you say?'

Astarte shook her head.

'Woman!' said Tancred, and he seized her hand, but his thoughts were too
wild for utterance, and he remained pallid and panting.

'The daughter of Besso is no more; and I do not lament it, for you loved
her.'

'Oh, grief ineffable!' said Tancred, with a groan, looking up to heaven,
and covering his face with his hands: 'I loved her, as I loved the stars
and sunshine.' Then, after a pause, he turned to Astarte, and said, in a
rapid voice, 'This dreadful deed; when, how, did it happen?'

'Is it so dreadful?'

'Almost as dreadful as such words from woman's lips. A curse be on the
hour that I entered these walls!'

'No, no, no!' said Astarte, and she seized his arm distractedly. 'No,
no! No curse!'

'It is not true!' said Tancred. 'It cannot be true! She is not dead.'

'Would she were not, if her death is to bring me curses.'

'Tell me when was this?'

'An hour ago, at least.'

'I do not believe it. There is not an arm that would have dared to touch
her. Let us hasten to her. It is not too late.'

'Alas! it is to