Calavar; or, The Knight of The Conquest, A Romance of Mexico
TekstDon Amador shuddered, but said, —
"I trust in God! and the thought of this fate shall not deter me."
"Go then, if thou wilt," said the Zegri, haughtily. "The service I have done thee, has not yet released me from thy debt; and thou canst yet command me. Begone, if thou art resolute: the door is open; I oppose thee not. Preserve thy life, if thou canst; and when thou art safe at the garrison, remember, that Abdoul-al-Sidi, and the boy Jacinto, have taken thy place on the altar of victims."
"What dost thou mean? I understand thee not. – What meanest thou?"
"Even that thou canst not escape, without the same being made known to the Mexicans; and that it cannot be made known to this vindictive people, that I have robbed them of their prey, without the penalty of my own life, and that of Jacinto, being immediately executed. When thou fliest, the father and the son perish."
"Dost thou speak me this in good faith?" said the cavalier, greatly troubled. "God forbid I should bring harm to thee, and especially to the boy. If I give thee my gage, – thou wilt not hold me bound to refrain from joining my friends, should I be so fortunate as to see them pass by, and am persuaded, the Mexicans will not discover thou hast harboured me?"
"If they pass by, I will myself open the doors," said Abdalla; "for I protest to thee, I keep thee here only to ensure thy security."
"Hark'ee, sir Moor – Don Hernan is about to retreat. Dost thou intend I shall remain in captivity – a single victim among the barbarians – while my countrymen are flying afar, perhaps returning to Christendom?"
"I swear to thee, señor," said the Zegri, earnestly, "that, when the Spaniards fly from this city, thou shalt be free to fly with them. I repeat, I make thee a prisoner, to prevent thy becoming a victim."
"And what hinders that we do not fly together to the palace? Thy knowledge may conduct us through the streets by night; and, with my head, I will engage thee a free pardon, and friendly reception."
"God hath commissioned me to the work, and it shall go on!" said the Moor, with solemn emphasis. "I know that thou couldst not save me from the fury of Don Hernan: he would grant thee my life at midnight, and, on the morrow, thou wouldst find me dead in the court-yard. Fly, if thou wilt, and leave me to perish by the hands of Mexicans: Spaniards shall drink my blood no more!"
"I give thee my gage," said the cavalier, "with this understanding, then, that I am free to fly, whenever I may do so without perilling thy life, and the life of Jacinto."
"And thou wilt hold to this pledge, like a true cavalier?" demanded Abdalla, quickly.
"Surely, I cannot break my plighted word!"
"God be thanked!" cried the Zegri, grasping the hand of the cavalier, "for, by this promise, thou hast saved thy life! Remain here; Jacinto shall be thy jailor, thy companion, thy servant. Be content with thy lot, and thank God; for thou art the only brand plucked out of the burning, while all the rest shall perish. – God be praised! – I save my benefactor!"
With these exclamations of satisfaction, Abdalla departed from the chamber.
CHAPTER XLVIII
The cavalier pondered, in perplexity, over the words of Abdalla; and, the longer he reflected, the more he began to lament his captivity, and doubt the wisdom of his gage.
"It is apparent to me," he soliloquized, "that my countrymen are in greater jeopardy than I before apprehended, and that it has been the plot of this subtle Moor, (whom I confess, however, to have something elevated and noble in his way of thinking, and much gratitude of heart, though of a mistaken character,) to keep me out of harm's way, while the Mexicans are murdering my companions. Heaven forgive me my rash parole, if this be true; for such safety becomes dishonour and ignominy. I will talk with him further on the subject; and if I find he hath thus schemed to preserve me, at such a price of degradation, I will straightway revoke my engagement, as being wrung from me by deceit, and quite impossible to be fulfilled. – I marvel where loiters the boy, Jacinto? Methinks I could eat something now, for I know not how long it is since I have tasted food: – an orange, or a bunch of grapes, were not amiss. – But, heaven save me! I have heard oranges do not grow in this land; and, perhaps these poor Moriscos are no better off than my friends at the palace. God help them! for the Mexicans fight like Turks; and, once or twice, that evening of the conflagration, I thought I had got me again into the trenches of Rhodes; and as for those knaves that wounded me, never did I see more valiant devils. I am glad I left my knight so possessed of his wits. – That Botello doth seem very clearly to have apprehended my fate, though the mishap be not so miserable as death. Truly, there did, a third time, war come out of peace; and yet, I assure myself, that, this time, it was brought about by Don Hernan rushing against that supernatural creature, that looks on me in the street, and eyes me even by my bed-side."
The cavalier was startled from his revery by a light step, and as the curtain was drawn aside from the door, he almost thought, for an instant, that he beheld the visage of the priestess, peering through its folds. A second glance, however, showed him the features of the Moorish page, who came in, bearing a little basket of fruits and Indian confections, as if anticipating his wants. These Jacinto placed before him, and then sat down at his feet.
For a few moments, Don Amador, in the satisfaction of the boy's presence forgot many of his perplexities; but observing, at last, that Jacinto's smiles were ever alternating with looks of distress and alarm, and that, sometimes, he surveyed his imprisoned master with eyes of great wildness, the cavalier began again to recur to his condition, to the mysteries which surrounded him, and especially to the suspicions, which so often attributed to the page the possession of magical arts.
"Thou saidst, Jacinto," he abruptly exclaimed, after thrusting aside the almost untasted food, and regarding the boy with a penetrating look, "that thou wert for the two last nights at my bed-side? – God be good to me! for 'tis an evil thing to be benighted so long!"
"Señor, I was."
"And, during all that time, I was entirely dispossessed of my wits?"
"Señor mio, yes. But, now, heaven be thanked your honour will recover!"
"And, thou art sure, I did not labour more under enchantment than fever?"
The page smiled, but very faintly, and without replying.
"To me, it seems no longer possible to doubt," said the cavalier, "that I have been, divers times, of late, entirely bewitched; and that thou hast had some agency in my delusions."
Jacinto smiled more pleasantly, and seemed to forget the secret thoughts which had agitated him.
"Dost thou," demanded the cavalier, "know aught of a certain supernatural priestess, that goes about the streets of this town, in pagan processions, followed by countless herds of nobles and warriors?"
The page hesitated, while replying —
"I have indeed heard of such a creature, and – I may say, – I have seen her."
"Thou hast seen her! – Is she mortal?"
"Surely, I think so, noble señor," replied Jacinto, with increasing embarrassment.
"For my part," said the novice, with a deep sigh and a troubled aspect, "I am almost quite convinced, that she is a spectre, and an inhabitant of hell, sent forth upon the earth to punish me with much affliction, and, perhaps, with madness. For I think she is the spirit of Leila; and her appearance in the guise of a pagan goddess, or pagan priestess, – the one or the other, – shows me, that she whom I loved, dwells not with angels, but with devils. This is a thought," continued the cavalier, mournfully, "that burns my heart as with a coal; and if God spare my life, and return me to mine own land, I will devote my estates to buy masses for her soul; for surely she cannot have fallen from sin into irreparable wo, but only into a punishment for some heresy, the fault of bad instruction, which may be expiated."
Jacinto regarded the distressed visage of his patron with concern, and with indecision, as if impelled, and yet afraid, to speak what might remove his anguish. Then, at last, moved by affection, and looking up with arch confidence to Don Amador, he said, —
"Señor, I can relieve you of this unhappiness. This is no spirit, but a woman, as I know full well, for I am in the secret. – I am not sure that it will not offend my father, to divulge such a secret to any Spaniard: yet can its revealment prejudice none. Know, señor, and use not this confession to my father's injury, that all this interlude of the prophetess, devised by the Mexican nobles and priests, with my father's counsel and aid, is a scheme to inflame the people with fresh devotion and fury against the Spaniards, your countrymen. For, being very superstitious and credulous, the common people are easily persuaded that their gods have sent them a messenger, to encourage and observe their valour; as, it is fabled, they have done in former days. The prophetess is but a puppet in their hands."
The cavalier eyed the young speaker steadfastly, until Jacinto cast his looks to the earth.
"Set this woman before me; let me look upon her," he said, gravely, and yet with earnestness.
The page returned his gaze with one of confusion, and even affright.
"Thou wilt not think to deceive me," continued his patron, "after confiding to me so much? Know thou, that it will rejoice me, relieving my mind of many pangs, to find that thy words are true, and to look upon this most beauteous, and, to my eyes, this most supernatural, barbarian. If she be a living creature, thou hast it in thy power to produce her, for she dwells in this house. I say this, Jacinto, on strong persuasion of the fact, for last night I beheld her, and did almost touch her!"
"Señor," said the boy, briskly, "that was one of the fancies of thy delirium. It was my poor self thou wert looking on. Twenty times, or more, didst thou call to me, as being the prophetess; and as often didst thou see in me some other strange creature. Now, I was my lord Don Gabriel, your worship's kinsman; now, some lady that your honour loved; now, an angel, bringing you succour in battle; now, my lord's little brother; now, his enemy; – and, twice or thrice, I was my own poor self, only that I was killing my lord with a dagger, – as if I could do any wrong to my master!"
"Is this the truth, indeed?" said the cavalier, dolorously. "I could have sworn, that I saw that woman, and that I was very sane, when I saw her. As for the after-visions, I can well believe, that they were the phantasms of fever, being very extravagant, and but vaguely remembered. – Thou deniest, then, that thou hast the power of casting spells?"
The page smiled merrily, for he perceived his patron was relieved of one irrational distress, and, banteringly, replied, —
"I will not say that; – I can do many things my lord would not think, and I know many he would not dream."
The cavalier was too sad and too simple-minded to jest.
"I believe thee," he said, seriously; "for, in every thing, thou art a miracle and mystery. Why is it, that thou hast obtained such a command over my affections? Why is it, that I have come to regard thee, not as a boy, young and foolish, but as one ripe in years and wisdom? It must needs be, because thou derivest thy power and thy knowledge from those astral and magical arts, which I once esteemed so vain; for I remember me, that, at thy years, I was, myself, not half so much advanced in intelligence and art, but was, on the contrary, quite a dull and foolish boy."
"It all comes of my music," said the page: "for that is a talent which matures faster than any other, and drags others along with it; besides giving one great skill in touching hearts. Your worship remembers how soon young David gained the love of the Jewish king, and how he would have cured him of his melancholy, but that Saul had a bad heart. Now, my lord seems, to me, to have, like this king, an evil spirit troubling him; and perhaps, if he will let me, I can sing it away, with the ballad of the Knight and the Page; for my lord's heart is good."
"The Knight and the Page? I have never heard thee sing that," said Don Amador, somewhat indifferently. "What is it about?"
"It is about a brave cavalier, that loved a noble lady, who loved him; but being made to believe her false to her vows, he went to the wars to die, followed by a little page, whom he thought the only true friend he had left in the world."
"By my faith," said Don Amador, regarding the boy kindly, "in this respect, methinks, I am, at present, somewhat like that knight; for thou, that art, likewise, a little page, seemest to be the only friend I have left in the world – that is, in this city, – that is to say, in this part of it; for I have much confidence in the love of several at the palace, notwithstanding that I think some others were a little backward in supporting me, when beset, that evil day, by the barbarians. – Was he a Spanish knight? and of what parts?"
"Of the Sierra Morena, at some place where the Jucar washes its foot."
"In good truth!" cried the cavalier, "that is the very river that rolls by Cuenza; and herein, again, is there another parallel. – But I should inform thee, that, when the mountain reaches so far as the Jucar, and runs up along its course, it is then called the Sierra of Cuenza, and not Morena. But this is a small matter. I shall be as glad to hear of the knight of Jucar, as of one of my ancestors."
"He resembled my lord still more," said the page, "for he had fallen, fighting the infidel, very grievously wounded; and his little page remained at his side, to share his fate."
"That I have, in a manner, fallen, and, as I may say, fighting the infidel, is true; but by no means can it be said, that I am grievously wounded. These cuts, that I have on my body, are but such scratches as one might make with a thorn; and, were it not for my head, which doth ever and anon ring much like to a bell, and ache somewhat immoderately, I should think myself well able to go out fighting again; not at all regarding my feebleness, which is not much, and my stiff joints, which a little exercise would greatly reduce into suppleness."
"It was the resemblance of my lord's situation to the knight of Jucar's, that reminded me of the roundelay," said Jacinto, taking up his lute, and stringing it into accord; "and now your worship shall represent the wounded knight, and I the young page that followed him. – But your worship should suppose me, instead of being a boy, to be a woman in disguise."
"A woman in disguise!" said the cavalier: "Is the page, then, the false mistress? There should be very good cause to put a woman in disguise; for, besides that it robs her, to appearance, if not absolutely, of the natural delicacy of her sex, it forces her to be a hypocrite. A deceitful woman is still more odious than a double-faced man."
"But this lady had great cause," said Jacinto, "seeing that love and sorrow, together, forced her into the henchman's habit, as my lord will presently see."
So saying, with a pleasant smile, the minstrel struck the lute, and sang the following little
ROMANCE OF THE KNIGHT AND THE PAGE
1
A Christian knight, in the Paynim land,
Lay bleeding on the plain;
The fight was done, and the field was won,
But not by the Christian train:
The cross had vail'd to the crescent,
The Moorish shouts rose high, —
'Lelilee! Lelilee!' – but the Christian knight
Sent up a sadder cry.
"My castle lies on Morena's top,
Jucar is far away: —
My lady will rue for her vows untrue
But God be good for aye! —
Young page! thou followest well;
These dog-howls heed not thou." —
'Lelilee! Lelilee!' —
"Get thee hence to my lady now.
Tell her this blood, that pours a flood,
My heart's true faith doth prove —
My corse to earth, my sighs to thee, —
My heart to my lady love!"
2
The page, he knelt at the Christian's side,
And sorely sobb'd he then:
"The faithless love can truer prove
Than hosts of faithful men.
The cross has vail'd to the crescent,
The Moorish shouts are high," —
'Lelilee! Lelilee!' – "but the love untrue
Hath yet another cry.
Thy castle lies on Morena's top,
Jucar is far away;
But dies the bride at her true lord's side, —
Now God be good for aye!
The page that followeth well,
Repeats the unbroken vow" —
'Lelilee! Lelilee!' —
"Oh, look on thy lady now!
For now this blood, that pours a flood,
Doth show her true love's plight. —
My soul to God, my blood to thine —
My life for my dying knight."
"Is that all?" said the cavalier, when Jacinto had warbled out the last line. "There should have been another stanza, to explain what was the cause of separation, as well as how it happened that the lady came to follow the knight, as a servant; neither of which circumstances is very manifest."
"Señor," said Jacinto, "if all the story had been told, it would have made a book. It is clear, that an evil destiny separated the pair, and that love sent the lady after her lord."
"Be thou a conjuror or not," said Don Amador, musingly, "thou hast the knack ever to hit upon subjects, as well in thy songs as in thy stories, which both provoke my curiosity, and revive my melancholy. My castle, as I may say, doth 'lie on Morena's top,' – that is to say, on the ridge of Cuenza; – and Jucar is, indeed, 'far away;' but heaven hath left me no lady-love, either to die with me among the infidels, by whom I am made to bleed, or to lament me at home. An evil destiny (how evil I know not, and yet do I dread, more dark than that which prevails with a jealous heart,) hath separated me from one whom I loved, – and, doubtless, hath separated me for ever." The cavalier sighed deeply, bent his eyes for a moment on the ground, and then raising them, with a solemn look, to the page, said abruptly, "I have come to be persuaded, altogether beyond the contradiction of my reason, that thou hast, somehow, and, perhaps, by magical arts, obtained a knowledge of the history of my past life. If thou knowest aught of the fate of Leila, the lamented maid of Almeria, I adjure thee to reveal thy knowledge, and without delay! Thou shakest thy head. – Wherefore didst thou refuse to finish the story of her who bore her name, and who dwelt in the same city?"
"My lord will be angry with me," said the page, rising in some perturbation, – "I have deceived him!"
"I am sorry to know thou couldst be, in any way, guilty of deceit, though I do readily forgive thee; charging thee, however, at all times, to remember, that any deceitfulness is but a form of mendacity, and therefore as mean and degrading as it is sinful. – In what hast thou deceived me?"
"When I told my lord the story of Leila, and perceived how it disturbed him," said Jacinto, with a faltering voice, "I repented me, and told him a thing that was not true, to appease him. The Leila of whom I spoke, had dwelt in Almeria within a year past; and, perhaps, she was the maid that my lord remembered."
As the page made this confession, Don Amador sprang eagerly to his feet, and, as he seized the speaker's arm, cried, with much agitation, —
"Dost thou tell me the truth? and does she live? God be praised for ever! doth the maiden live?"
"She lived, when my father brought me from Barbary – "
"Heaven be thanked! I will ransom her from the infidels, though I give myself up to captivity as the price!"
"Señor," said the page, sorrowfully, "you forget that you are now a prisoner in another world."
The cavalier smote his breast, crying, "It is true! and the revealment comes too late! – Silly boy!" he continued, reproachfully, "why didst thou delay telling me this, until this time, when it can only add to my griefs? Why didst thou not speak it, at Tlascala, that I might have departed forthwith from the land, to her rescue?"
"My lord would not have deserted his kinsman, Don Gabriel?"
"True again!" exclaimed Don Amador, with a pang. "I could not have left my knight, even at the call of Leila. But now will I go to Don Gabriel, and confessing to him my sorrow, will prevail upon him straightway to depart with me; for here, it must be plain to him, as it is to me, that God is not with us.
"Alas! señor," said the page, "it is not possible that you should go to Don Gabriel, nor that you should ever more leave this heathen land."
"Dost thou confess, then," demanded the novice, "that Abdalla has deceived me, and that I am held to perpetual captivity?"
"Señor," said the boy, clasping his hands, and weeping bitterly, "we shall never more see Spain, nor any land but this. The fate of Don Hernan, and of all his men, is written; they are in a net from which they cannot escape; and we, who are spared, obtain our lives only at the price of expatriation. My father remembered his protector, – my lord is saved; but he shares our exile!"
At this confirmation of his worst suspicions, the countenance of Don Amador darkened with despair and horror.
"And Abdalla, thy father, has plotted this foul, traitorous, and most bloody catastrophe? And he thinks, that, for my life's sake, I will divide with him the dishonour and guilt of my preservation?"
"My lord knows not the wrongs of my father," said Jacinto, mournfully, "or he would not speak of him so harshly."
"Thy father is a most traitor-like and backsliding villain," said Don Amador, "and this baseness in him should entirely cancel in thee the bonds of affection and duty; for thou art not of his nature. Hark thee, then, boy: it is my purpose straightway to depart from this house, and this durance. I desire to save thee from the fate of a pagan's slave. Better will it be for thee, if thou shouldst die with me, in the attempt to reach the palace, (and I swear to thee, I will protect thee to the last moment of my life,) than remain in Tenochtitlan, after thy Christian friends have left it, or after they are slain. It is my hope, and, indeed, my belief, that, when the valiant general, Don Hernan, comes to be persuaded of his true condition, he will, immediately, and at any cost, cut his way out of this most accursed city. In this manner will we escape, and thou shall find, in me, a father who will love thee not less truly, and more in fashion of a Christian, than the apostate Zegri."
"If my lord could but protect my father from the anger of Don Hernan, and prevail upon him to return with my lord!" said Jacinto, eagerly.
"I have already proposed this to him, and, in his fury, he denies me."
"Heaven help us then!" cried Jacinto, "for there is no other hope; and we must dwell with the barbarians!"
"Dost thou think, that I will rest here, when they are murdering Don Gabriel? – Hark thee! what knave has stolen away my sword? – Know, that I will straightway make my escape, and carry thee along with me; for God would not forgive me, did I leave thee abandoned to barbarians, to the eternal loss and perdition of thy soul. I say to thee again, thou shalt accompany me."
"I will remain with my father!" said the boy, stepping back, and assuming some of that dignity and decision, which the neophyte had so lately witnessed in Abdalla; "and so will my lord, likewise; for my lord has given him a pledge, which he cannot forfeit."
"Miserable wretch that I am!" said the cavalier; – "in either case, I am overwhelmed with dishonour. My gage was sinful, and the infraction of it will be shame. Bring me hither Abdalla; I will revoke my promise to him in person; and, after that, I can depart, without disgrace."
"Thou canst not escape, without shedding blood, at least," said the boy, with a pale and yet determined countenance, "for, first, thou must slay my father, who saved thee from the death of sacrifice. If thou goest, in his absence, then must my lord strike down the son; – for with what strength I have, I will prevent him!"
The amazement with which the warlike cavalier heard these words, and beheld the stripling throw himself manfully before the door of the apartment, entirely disconcerted him for a moment. Before he could find words to express his anger, or perhaps derision, the page, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, ran from the door, and flinging himself at his patron's feet, embraced his knees, weeping and exclaiming, with much passion,
"O my dear master! be not incensed with me: for I am but weak and silly, and I have no friends but my father and thee! If thou takest me from my father, then shall he be left childless, to live and to die alone; if thou goest without us, we shall be deserted to perish without a friend; for no one has smiled on us but my lord; and if thou goest while my father is absent, he will curse me, and I will curse myself, – for thou must needs die in the streets!"
The novice was touched, not so much by the last and undeniable assurance, as by the pathetic appeal of the Morisco.
"Be comforted, Jacinto," he cried; "for now, indeed, it appears to me, that, whether I had passed my gage or not, I could not take advantage of the weakness of such a jailor, and fly, without the greatest shame. And, in addition, it seems to me inhuman and unjust, that I should think of escaping, without doing my best to snatch thee and thy father also, (whose sinfulness does, in this case, at least, spring from affection,) out of thraldom. Be thou therefore content: I will remain thy patient prisoner, until such time as Abdalla returns; hoping that I can, then, advance such remonstrance and argument, as shall convert him from his purpose, and cause him to repent what wrongs he has already done Don Hernan, and to accept his mercy, which I do again avow myself ready to secure with my life, and even with my honour. But I warn thee, that I can by no means remain a captive, while my friends are given up to destruction."
"Señor," said Jacinto, rising, "there is a hope they will be spared, if the king should recover; for greatly have the Mexicans mourned the rage which wounded their monarch. If he live, and again command peace, there will be peace; and all of us may yet be happy."
"God grant that this may be so!" said the cavalier, catching at the hope. "I will therefore remain with thee a little; for if my friends be not starved outright, I have no fear but that they can easily maintain themselves a week in the palace."
"And besides, señor," said the page, returning to his playful manner, "if you were to leave me, how should you hear more of the maid of Almeria?"
"Of Leila?" cried the cavalier, forgetting at once his honour and his friends; "now do I remember me, that you have not yet told me how you acquired your most blessed and blissful knowledge. Heaven forgive me! I did not think it possible, – but, I believe, I had entirely forgotten her! How comest thou to know aught of her? Answer me quickly, and be still more quick to tell me all you know."
"Will not my lord be satisfied with my knowledge, without seeking after the means of acquiring it?" demanded the page, hesitatingly.
"If, indeed," said Don Amador, solemnly, "thou hast obtained it by the practice of that land of magic which is forbidden, though my curiosity will not permit me to eschew its revelations, yet must I caution thee, from this time henceforth, to employ it no more; for, herein, dost thou peril thy soul. But, if it be by those arts, which are not in themselves sinful, thou shouldst not be ashamed to confess them; for the habit of concealment is the first step in the path of deception; and I have already assured thee, that a deceiver is, as one may say, a lie in the face of his Maker. But of this I will instruct thee more fully hereafter: at present, I burn with an unconquerable desire to hear thee speak of Leila."
"But how know I," said the page, again hesitating, "that she of whom I speak, is the Leila after whom it pleases my lord to inquire? – And why indeed, now that I think of it, should my lord inquire at all after one of a persecuted and despised race?"
"Wilt thou still torment me? Have I not told thee that I forgot her origin, and loved her?"
"And did she love my lord back again?"
"Thou askest me what I cannot with certainty answer," replied the cavalier, "for she was snatched away from me, before I had yet overcome the natural scruples of my pride to discourse of love to one who seemed so much beneath the dignity of my birth and fortunes."
"And my lord gave her no cause to think she had obtained favour in his eyes?"
"In this thou dost not err; for, saving some gifts, which were, indeed, more the boons of a patron than the tribute of a lover, I did nothing to address me to her affections. In all things, as I may say, I did rather assume the character of one who would befriend and protect her from wrong, than of a man seeking after her love."
"But, if she accepted my lord's gifts, she must have loved him," said Jacinto.
"They were very trifles," rejoined the cavalier, "saving only one, indeed, which, as she must have perceived, could not have been more properly bestowed than upon one so innocent and friendless as herself. This was a very antique and blessed jewel, – a cross of rubies, – fetched by mine ancestor, Don Rodrigo of Arragon, more than three hundred years ago, from the Holy Land, after having been consecrated upon the Sepulchre itself. It was thought to be a talisman of such heavenly efficacy, in the hands of an unspotted virgin, that no harm could ever come to her, who wore it upon her neck. For mine own part, though I could tell thee divers stories of its virtue, recorded in our house, yet was I ever inclined to think, that a natural purity of heart was, in all cases, a much better protection of innocence than even a holy talisman. Nevertheless, when I beheld this orphan Moor, I bethought me of the imputed virtues of those rubies; and I put them upon her neck, as thinking her friendless condition gave her the strongest claim to all such blessed protection."
"A cross of rubies!" cried the page; "it is she!"
"And thou canst tell me of her resting-place? and of her present condition?" cried the overjoyed cavalier. "I remember, that, at the temple of Tlascala, thou didst aver, that, notwithstanding the apparent baseness of her origin, it had been discovered that she was descended of very noble parentage!"