The maiden looked fixedly at the young soldier, and seemed considering with what words to address him, while he, after his long search and now unexpected success, was equally at a loss. At last she said in Spanish, “Thou wonderful enigma, I have been witness of all that has passed between thee and the Arab; and these affairs confuse my head like a whirlwind. Speak, therefore, plainly, that I may know whether thou art a madman or an angel?”

“I am neither, dear lady,” replied Heimbert, with his wonted friendliness. “I am only a poor wanderer, who has just been putting into practice one of the commands of his Master, Jesus Christ.”

“Sit down,” said Zelinda, “and tell me of thy Master; he must be himself unprecedented to have such a servant. The night is cool and still, and at my side thou hast no cause to fear the dangers of the desert.”

“Lady,” replied Heimbert, smiling, “I am not of a fearful nature, and when I am speaking of my dear Saviour my mind is perfectly free from all alarm.”

Thus saying, they both sat down on the now cooled sand and began a wondrous conversation, while the full moon shone upon them from the deep-blue heavens above like a magic lamp.

Heimbert’s words, full of divine love, truth, and simplicity sank like soft sunbeams, gently and surely, into Zelinda’s, heart, driving away the mysterious magic power which dwelt there, and wrestling for the dominion of the noble territory of her soul. When morning began to dawn she said, “Thou wouldst not be called an angel last evening, but thou art truly one. For what else are angels than messengers of the Most High God?” “In that sense,” rejoined Heimbert, “I am well satisfied with the name, for I certainly hope that I am the bearer of my Master’s message. Yes, if he bestows on me further grace and strength, it may even be that you also may become my companion in the pious work.” “It is not impossible,” said Zelinda thoughtfully. “Thou must, however, come with me to my island, and there thou shalt be regaled as is befitting such an ambassador, far better than here on the desolate sand, with the miserable palm-wine that thou hast so laboriously obtained.”

“Pardon me,” replied Heimbert; “it is difficult to me to refuse the request of a lady, but on this occasion it cannot be otherwise. In your island many glorious things have been conjured together by your forbidden art, and many lovely forms which the good God has created have been transformed. These might dazzle my senses, and at last delude them. If you will, therefore, hear the best and purest things which I can relate to you, you must rather come out to me on this desert sand. The palm-wine and the dates of the Arab will suffice for me for many a day to come.” “You would do better to come with me,” said Zelinda, shaking her head with somewhat of a scornful smile. “You were certainly neither born nor brought up to be a hermit, and there is nothing on my oasis so destructive as you imagine. What is there more than shrubs and flowers and beasts gathered together from different quarters of the world, perhaps a little strangely interwoven; each, that is to say, partaking of the nature of the other, in a similar manner to that which you must have seen in our Arabian carving! A moving flower, a bird growing on a branch, a fountain gleaming with fiery sparks, a singing twig—these are truly no hateful things!” “He must avoid temptation who does not wish to be overcome by it,” said Heimbert very gravely; “I am for the desert. Will it please you to come out to visit me again?” Zelinda looked down somewhat displeased. Then suddenly bending her head still lower she replied, “Yes; toward evening I shall be here again.” And, turning away, she at once disappeared in the rising whirlwind of the desert.

CHAPTER XII

With the evening twilight the lovely lady returned and spent the night in converse with the pious youth, leaving him in the morning with her mind more humble, pure, and devout; and thus matters went on for many days. “Thy palm-wine and thy dates must be coming to an end,” said Zelinda one evening as she presented the youth with a flask of rich wine and some costly fruits. He, however, gently put aside the gift and said, “Noble lady, I would accept your gift gladly, but I fear some of your magic arts may perhaps cleave to it. Or could you assure me to the contrary by Him whom you are now beginning to know?” Zelinda cast down her eyes in silent confusion and took her presents back. On the following evening, however, she brought similar gifts, and, smiling confidently, gave the desired assurance. Heimbert then partook of them without hesitation, and from henceforth the disciple carefully provided for the sustenance of her teacher in the wilderness.

And so, as the blessed knowledge of the truth sank more and more deeply into Zelinda’s soul, so that she was often sitting till dawn before the youth, with cheeks glowing and hair dishevelled, her eyes gleaming with delight and her hands folded, unable to withdraw herself from his words, he, on his part, endeavored to make her sensible at all times that it was only Fadrique’s love for her which had urged him, his friend, into this fatal desert, and that it was this same love that had thus become the means for the attainment of her highest spiritual good. She still well remembered the handsome and terrible captain who had stormed the height that he might clasp her in his arms; and she related to her friend how the same hero had afterward saved her in the burning library. Heimbert too had many pleasant things to tell of Fadrique—of his high knightly courage, of his grave and noble manners, and of his love to Zelinda, which in the night after the battle of Tunis was no longer concealed within his passionate breast, but was betrayed to the young German in a thousand unconscious expressions between sleeping and waking. Divine truth and the image of her loving hero both at once sank deep within Zelinda’s heart, and struck root there with tender but indestructible power. Heimbert’s presence and the almost adoring admiration with which his pupil regarded him did not disturb these feelings, for from the first moment his appearance had something in it so pure and heavenly that no thoughts of earthly love intruded. When Heimbert was alone he would often smile happily within himself, saying in his own beloved German tongue, “It is indeed delightful that I am now able consciously to do the same service for Fadrique as he did for me, unconsciously, with his angelic sister.” And then he would sing some German song of Clara’s grace and beauty, the sound of which rang with strange sweetness through the desert, while it happily beguiled his solitary hours.

Once when Zelinda came in the evening twilight, gracefully bearing on her beautiful head a basket of provisions for Heimbert, he smiled at her and shook his head, saying, “It is inconceivable to me, sweet maiden, why you ever give yourself the trouble of coming to me out here in the desert. You can indeed no longer find pleasure in magic arts, since the spirit of truth and love dwells within you. If you would only transform the oasis into the natural form in which the good God created it, I would go there with you, and we should have far more time for holy converse.” “Sir,” replied Zelinda, “you speak truly. I too have thought for some days of doing so and the matter would have been already set on foot, but a strange visitor fetters my power. The Dervish whom you saw in Tunis is with me, and as in former times we have practised many magic tricks with each other, he would like again to play the old game. He perceives the change in me, and on that account urges me all the more vehemently and dangerously.”

“He must either be driven away or converted,” said Heimbert, girding on his shoulder-belt more firmly, and taking up his shield from the ground. “Have the goodness, dear maiden,” he continued, “to lead me to your enchanted isle.”

“You avoided it so before,” said the astonished Zelinda, “and it is still unchanged in its fantastic form.”

“Formerly it would have been only inconsiderate curiosity to have ventured there,” replied Heimbert. “You came too out here to me, and that was better for us both. But now the old enemy might lay snares for the ruin of all that the Lord has been working in you, and so it is a knightly duty to go. In God’s name, then, to the work!”

And they hastened forward together, through the ever-increasing darkness of the plain, on their way to the blooming island.

CHAPTER XIII

A charming breeze began to cool the heated brows of the travellers, and the twinkling starlight revealed in the distance a grove, waving to and fro with the gentle motion of the air. Heimbert cast his eyes to the ground and said, “Go before me, sweet maiden, and guide my path to the spot where I shall find this threatening Dervish. I do not wish unnecessarily to see anything of these ensnaring enchantments.”

Zelinda did as he desired, and the relation of the two was for a moment changed; the maiden had become the guide, and Heimbert, full of confidence, allowed himself to be led upon the unknown path. Branches were even now touching his cheeks, half caressingly and playfully; wonderful birds, growing out of bushes, sang joyful songs; over the velvet turf, upon which Heimbert ever kept his eyes fixed, there glided gleaming serpents of green and gold, with little golden crowns, and brilliant stones glittered on the mossy carpet. When the serpents touched the jewels, they gave forth a silvery sound. But Heimbert let the serpents creep and the gems sparkle, without troubling himself about them, intent alone on following the footsteps of his guide.

“We are there!” said she with suppressed voice; and looking up he saw a shining grotto of shells, within which he perceived a man asleep clad in golden scale-armor of the old Numidian fashion. “Is that also a phantom, there yonder in the golden scales?” inquired Heimbert, smiling; but Zelinda looked very grave and replied, “Oh, no! that is the Dervish himself, and his having put on this coat-of-mail, which has been rendered invulnerable by dragon’s blood, is a proof that by his magic he has become aware of our intention.” “What does that signify?” said Heimbert; “he would have to know it at last.” And he began at once to call out, with a cheerful voice, “Wake up, old sir, wake up! Here is an acquaintance of yours, who has matters upon which he must speak to you.”

And as the Dervish opened his large rolling eyes, everything in the magic grove began to move, the water began to dance, and the branches to intertwine in wild emulation, and at the same time the precious stones and the shells and corals emitted strange and confusing melodies.

“Roll and turn, thunder and play as you like!” exclaimed Heimbert, looking fixedly at the maze around him; “you shall not divert me from my own good path, and Almighty God has given me a good far-sounding soldier’s voice which can make itself heard above all this tumult.” Then turning to the Dervish he said, “It appears, old man, that you already know everything which has passed between Zelinda and me. In case, however, that it is not so, I will tell you briefly that she is already as good as a Christian, and that she is the betrothed of a noble Spanish knight. Place nothing in the way of her good intention; I advise you for your own sake. But still better for your own sake would it be if you would become a Christian yourself. Discuss the matter with me, and first bid all this mad devilish show to cease, for our religion, dear sir, speaks of far too tender and divine things to be talked of with violence or with the loud voice necessary on the field of war.”

But the Dervish, burning with hatred to the Christians, had not waited to hear the knight’s last words when he rushed at him with his drawn scimitar. Heimbert merely parried his thrust, saying, “Take care of yourself, sir! I have heard something of your weapons being charmed, but that will avail but little before my sword. It has been consecrated in holy places.”

The Dervish sprang wildly back before the sword, but equally wildly did he spring to the other side of his adversary, who only with difficulty caught the terrible cuts of his weapon upon his shield. Like a gold-scaled dragon the Mohammedan swung himself round his antagonist with an agility which, with his long flowing white beard, was ghostly and horrible to witness. Heimbert was prepared to meet him on all sides, ever keeping a watchful eye for some opening in the scales made by the violence of his movements. At last it happened as he desired; between the arm and breast on the left side the dark garments of the Dervish became visible, and quick as lightning the German made a deadly thrust. The old man exclaimed aloud, “Allah! Allah!” and fell forward, fearful even in his fall, a senseless corpse.

“I pity him!” sighed Heimbert, leaning on his sword and looking down on his fallen foe. “He has fought nobly, and even in death he called upon his Allah, whom he looked upon as the true God. He must not lack honorable burial.” He then dug a grave with the broad scimitar of his adversary, laid the corpse within it, covered it over with turf, and knelt on the spot in silent heartfelt prayer for the soul of the departed.