but a servant--I
know nothing."

"When will she return?"

"I cannot tell thee."

"Who is thy master? who owns yon mansion?"

Ximen's countenance fell; he looked round in doubt and fear, and then,
after a short pause, answered,--"A wealthy man, good sir--a Moor of
Africa; but he hath also gone; he but seldom visits us; Granada is not
so peaceful a residence as it was,--I would go too, if I could."

Muza released his hold of Ximen, who gazed at the Moor's working
countenance with a malignant smile--for Ximen hated all men.

"Thou hast done with me, young warrior? Pleasant dreams to thee under
the new moon--thou hadst best retire to thy bed. Farewell! bless thy
charity to the poor old man!"

Muza heard him not; he remained motionless for some moments; and then
with a heavy sigh as that of one who has gained the mastery of himself
after a bitter struggle, the said half aloud, "Allah be with thee,
Leila! Granada now is my only mistress."

CHAPTER V. BOABDIL'S RECONCILIATION WITH HIS PEOPLE.

Several days had elapsed without any encounter between Moor and
Christian; for Ferdinand's cold and sober policy, warned by the loss he
had sustained in the ambush of Muza, was now bent on preserving rigorous
restraint upon the fiery spirits he commanded. He forbade all parties of
skirmish, in which the Moors, indeed, had usually gained the advantage,
and contented himself with occupying all the passes through which
provisions could arrive at the besieged city. He commenced strong
fortifications around his camp; and, forbidding assault on the Moors,
defied it against himself.

Meanwhile, Almamen had not returned to Granada. No tidings of his fate
reached the king; and his prolonged disappearance began to produce
visible and salutary effect upon the long-dormant energies of Boabdil.
The counsels of Muza, the exhortations of the queen-mother, the
enthusiasm of his mistress, Amine, uncounteracted by the arts of the
magician, aroused the torpid lion of his nature. But still his army and
his subjects murmured against him; and his appearance in the Vivarrambla
might possibly be the signal of revolt. It was at this time that a
most fortunate circumstance at once restored to him the confidence and
affections of his people. His stern uncle, El Zagal--once a rival for
his crown, and whose daring valour, mature age, and military sagacity
had won him a powerful party within the city--had been, some months
since, conquered by Ferdi