. 'To horse! You need not
strike the tents. Can we reach the city by sunset, merchant?'

'An hour before, if you be off at once.' 'Sound the drums. To horse! to
horse!' The Seljuks halted before the walls of the deserted city. Their
commander ordered a detachment to enter and reconnoitre. They returned
and reported its apparent desolation. Hassan Subah, then directing
that a guard should surround the walls to prevent any of the enemy from
escaping, passed with his warriors through the vast portal into the
silent street. The still magnificence of the strange and splendid scene
influenced the temper even of this ferocious cavalry. They gazed around
them with awe and admiration. The fierceness of their visages was
softened, the ardour of their impulse stilled. A supernatural feeling
of repose stole over their senses. No one brandished his scimitar, the
fiery courser seemed as subdued as his lord, and no sound was heard but
the melancholy, mechanical tramp of the disciplined march, unrelieved
by martial music, inviolate by oath or jest, and unbroken even by the
ostentatious caracoling of any showy steed.

It was sunset; the star of eve glittered over the white Ionian fane that
rose serene and delicate in the flashing and purple sky.

'This way, my lord!' said the merchant guide, turning round to Hassan
Subah, who, surrounded by his officers, led the van. The whole of the
great way of the city was filled with the Seljukian warriors. Their ebon
steeds, their snowy turbans, adorned with plumes of the black eagle and
the red heron, their dazzling shawls, the blaze of their armour in
the sunset, and the long undulating perspective of beautiful forms and
brilliant colours, this regiment of heroes in a street of palaces. War
had seldom afforded a more imposing or more picturesque spectacle.

'This way, my lord!' said the merchant, pointing to the narrow turning
that, at the foot of the temple, led through ruined streets to the
amphitheatre.

'Halt!' exclaimed a wild shrill voice. Each warrior suddenly arrested
his horse.

'Who spoke?' exclaimed Hassan Subah.

'I!' answered a voice. A female form stood in the portico of the temple,
with uplifted arms.

'And who art thou?' enquired Hassan Subah, not a little disconcerted.

'Thine evil genius, Seljuk!'

Hassan Subah, pale as his ivory battle-axe, did not answer; every man
within hearing shuddered; still the dread woman remained immovable
within the porch of the temple.