ng fountain, and said
to his pagan associate of the journey, "I would I knew the name of this
delicious fountain, that I might hold it in my grateful remembrance; for
never did water slake more deliciously a more oppressive thirst than I
have this day experienced."

"It is called in the Arabic language," answered the Saracen, "by a name
which signifies the Diamond of the Desert."

"And well is it so named," replied the Christian. "My native valley hath
a thousand springs, but not to one of them shall I attach hereafter
such precious recollection as to this solitary fount, which bestows
its liquid treasures where they are not only delightful, but nearly
indispensable."

"You say truth," said the Saracen; "for the curse is still on yonder
sea of death, and neither man nor beast drinks of its waves, nor of the
river which feeds without filling it, until this inhospitable desert be
passed."

They mounted, and pursued their journey across the sandy waste. The
ardour of noon was now past, and a light breeze somewhat alleviated
the terrors of the desert, though not without bearing on its wings
an impalpable dust, which the Saracen little heeded, though his
heavily-armed companion felt it as such an annoyance that he hung his
iron casque at his saddle-bow, and substituted the light riding-cap,
termed in the language of the time a MORTIER, from its resemblance
in shape to an ordinary mortar. They rode together for some time in
silence, the Saracen performing the part of director and guide of the
journey, which he did by observing minute marks and bearings of the
distant rocks, to a ridge of which they were gradually approaching. For
a little time he seemed absorbed in the task, as a pilot when navigating
a vessel through a difficult channel; but they had not proceeded half
a league when he seemed secure of his route, and disposed, with more
frankness than was usual to his nation, to enter into conversation.

"You have asked the name," he said, "of a mute fountain, which hath the
semblance, but not the reality, of a living thing. Let me be pardoned
to ask the name of the companion with whom I have this day encountered,
both in danger and in repose, and which I cannot fancy unknown even here
among the deserts of Palestine?"

"It is not yet worth publishing," said the Christian. "Know, however,
that among the soldiers of the Cross I am called Kenneth--Kenneth of
the Couching Leopard; at home I have other titles, but they wou