no
Mohammedan slave would have been subjected to the insult of submission
to a Jew); and though there were rumours of the vast wealth and gorgeous
luxury within the mansion, it was supposed the abode of some Moorish
emir absent from the city--and the interest of the gossips was at this
time absorbed in more weighty matters than the affairs of a neighbour.
But when, the next eve, and the next, Muza returned to the spot equally
in vain, his impatience and alarm could no longer be restrained; he
resolved to lie in watch by the portals of the house night and day,
until, at least, he could discover some one of the inmates, whom he
could question of his love, and perhaps bribe to his service. As with
this resolution he was hovering round the mansion, he beheld, stealing
from a small door in one of the low wings of the house, a bended and
decrepit form: it supported its steps upon a staff; and, as now entering
the garden, it stooped by the side of a fountain to cull flowers and
herbs by the light of the moon, the Moor almost started to behold a
countenance which resembled that of some ghoul or vampire haunting the
places of the dead. He smiled at his own fear; and, with a quick and
stealthy pace, hastened through the trees, and, gaining the spot where
the old man bent, placed his hand on his shoulder ere his presence was
perceived.

Ximen--for it was he--looked round eagerly, and a faint cry of terror
broke from his lips.

"Hush!" said the Moor; "fear me not, I am a friend. Thou art old,
man--gold is ever welcome to the aged." As he spoke, he dropped several
broad pieces into the breast of the Jew, whose ghastly features gave
forth a yet more ghastly smile, as he received the gift, and mumbled
forth,

"Charitable young man! generous, benevolent, excellent young man!"

"Now then," said Muza, "tell me--you belong to this house--Leila, the
maiden within--tell me of her--is she well?"

"I trust so," returned the Jew; "I trust so, noble master."

"Trust so! know you not of her state?"

"Not I; for many nights I have not seen her, excellent sir," answered
Ximen; "she hath left Granada, she hath gone. You waste your time
and mar your precious health amidst these nightly dews: they are
unwholesome, very unwholesome at the time of the new moon."

"Gone!" echoed the Moor; "left Granada!--woe is me!--and
whither?--there, there, more gold for you,--old man, tell me whither?"

"Alas! I know not, most magnanimous young man; I am