thy counsel--let the rest withdraw."

"Most mighty Caneri," continued Malique; "as my party was patrolling the
mountains last night, some of my men surprised a Christian."

"And of course he met his death?" interrupted the Chief.

"He did, after a long struggle, for a more desperate man we have seldom
seen! he now dangles on a tree, like many others of his countrymen, a
fit scarecrow to rambling adventurers."

"Proceed--" said Caneri gravely.

"A moment after," resumed Malique, "chance led us to the spot where
another Christian slept in fancied security."

"And didst thou slay the wretch?" inquired the Chief.

"No, most noble Caneri. It was a female, and therefore I brought her
here, for she is a most bewitching creature--such as seldom meets the
enamoured gaze of an enraptured lover. The rose in its opening bloom
looks not more lovely in the garden of the faithful, than this beauteous
captive. Indeed the fascination of her person is peculiarly striking,
though at present the gloom that preys upon her mind, tends considerably
to diminish the lustre of her charms. Still I thought she might find
favor in the sight of our illustrious Chief, and be honored with his
smile."

"A young Christian maiden," cried Caneri, "sleeping in the
Alpujarras!--'tis strange!--how came she there? Malique, didst thou
learn? Knowest thou the nature of her sorrows?"

"Yes," answered Malique,--"she bitterly deplores the fate of him we
slew. Apparently, he was a husband or a lover. At all events the
Christian people cannot boast of a nobler or braver warrior."

"Knowest thou his name?" demanded Caneri.

"I learnt it," replied Malique, "from the captive herself;--it is Don
Lope Gomez Arias."

"Gomez Arias!" exclaimed the renegade; starting back in amazement.
"Gomez Arias! it cannot be!"

"Such is the name," returned Malique, "that our prisoner gave him, and
there is no reason why she should deceive us. In troth her anguish was
too deep, and her grief but too lively, to leave a doubt of the veracity
of her statement."

"Gomez Arias!" cried again the renegade, "and is he really dead!--dead!
Malique, art thou sure?--did he not escape?"

"Escape!" muttered the Moor, "his soul escaped from his body. That is
all the escape that I wot of."

"Then," continued the renegade, Bermudo, striking his forehead in a
paroxysm of disappointed passion, "my revenge is foiled, my victory
incomplete. I, too, could once have taken his life; but he ow