not only for deeds of arms, but for that magnanimous courtesy which should ever be entwined with the stern virtues of the soldier.

His garrison consisted of fifty chosen men, well-appointed and well-mounted, with which he maintained such vigilant watch that nothing could escape his eye. While some remained on guard in the castle, he would sally forth with others, prowling about the highways, the paths and defiles of the mountains, by day and night, and now and then making a daring foray into the very Vega of Granada.

On a fair and beautiful night in summer, when the moon was in the full, and the freshness of the evening breeze had tempered the heat of day, the alcayde, with nine of his cavaliers, was going the rounds of the mountains in quest of adventures. They rode silently and cautiously, for it was a night to tempt others abroad, and they might be overheard by Moorish scout or traveller; they kept along ravines and hollow ways, moreover, lest they should be betrayed by the glittering of the moon upon their armour. Coming to a fork in the road, the alcayde ordered five of his cavaliers to take one of the branches, while he, with the remaining four, would take the other. Should either party be in danger, the blast of a horn was to be the signal for succour. The party of five had not proceeded far, when, in passing through a defile, they heard the voice of a man singing. Concealing themselves among trees, they awaited his approach. The moon, which left the grove in shadow, shone full upon his person, as he slowly advanced, mounted on a dapple-grey steed of powerful frame and generous spirit, and magnificently caparisoned. He was a Moorish cavalier, of noble demeanour and graceful carriage, arrayed in a marlota or tunic, and an albornoz of crimson damask fringed with gold. His Tunisian turban of many folds was of striped silk and cotton, bordered with a golden fringe; at his girdle hung a Damascus scimitar, with Loops and tassels of silk and gold. On his left arm he bore an ample target, and his right hand grasped a long doublepointed lance. Apparently dreaming of no danger, he sat negligently on his steed, gazing on the moon, and singing, with a sweet and manly voice, a Moorish love-ditty.

Just opposite the grove where the cavaliers were concealed, the horse turned aside to drink at a small fountain in a rock beside the road. His rider threw the reins on his neck to let him drink at his ease, and continued his song.

The cavaliers whispered with each other. Charmed with the gallant and gentle appearance of the Moor, they determined not to harm, but capture him-an easy task, as they supposed, in his negligent mood. Rushing forth, therefore,

they thought to surround, and take him by surprise. Never were men more mistaken. To gather up his reins, wheel round his steed, brace his buckler, and couch his lance, was the work of an instant; and there he sat, fixed like a castle in his saddle.

The cavaliers checked their steeds, and reconnoitred him warily, loath to come to an encounter which must prove fatal to him.

The Moor now held a parley. "If ye be true knights, and seek for honourable fame, come on singly, and I will meet each in succession; if ye be mere lurkers of the road, intent on spoil, come all at once, and do your worst."

The cavaliers communed together for a moment, when one, parting from the others, advanced. "Although no law of chivalry," said he, "obliges us to risk the loss of a prize, when fairly in our power, yet we willingly grant, as a courtesy, what we might refuse as a right. Valiant Moor, defend thy

self.

So saying, he wheeled, took proper distance, couched his lance, and putting spurs to his horse, made at the stranger. The latter met him in mid-career, transpierced him with his lance, and threw him from his saddle. A second and a third succeeded, but were unhorsed with equal facility, and thrown to the earth, severely wounded. The remaining two, seeing their comrades thus roughly treated, forgot all compact of courtesy, and charged both at once upon the Moor. He parried the thrust of one, but was wounded by the other in the thigh, and in the shock and confusion dropped his lance. Thus disarmed, and closely pressed, he pretended to fly, and was hotly pursued. Having drawn the two cavaliers some distance from the spot, he wheeled short about, with one of those dexterous movements for which the Moorish horsemen were renowned; passed swiftly between them, swung himself down from his saddle, so as to catch up his lance, then, lightly replacing himself, turned to renew the combat.

Seeing him thus fresh for the encounter, as if just issued from his tent, one of the cavaliers put his lips to his horn, and blew a blast, that soon brought the alcayde and his four companions to the spot.

Narvaez, seeing three of his cavaliers extended on the earth, and two others hotly engaged with the Moor, was struck with admiration, and coveted a contest with so accomplished a warrior. Interfering in the fight, he called upon his followers to desist, and with courteous words invited the Moor to a more equal combat. The challenge was readily accepted. For some time the contest was doubtful, and the alcayde had need of all his skill and strength to ward off the blows of his anta

gonist. The Moor, however, exhausted by previous fighting, and by loss of blood, no longer sat his horse firmly, nor managed him with his wonted skill. Collecting all his strength for a last assault, he rose in his stirrups, and made a violent thrust with his lance; the alcayde received it upon his shield, and at the same time wounded the Moor in the right arm; then closing, in the shock, grasped him in his arms, dragged him from his saddle, and fell with him to the earth: when, putting his knee upon his breast, and his dagger to his throat, "Cavalier," exclaimed he, "render thyself my prisoner, for thy life is in my hands!"

66

'Kill me, rather," replied the Moor, "for death would be less grievous than loss of liberty."

The alcayde, however, with the clemency of the truly brave, assisted him to rise, ministered to his wounds with his own hands, and had him conveyed with great care to the castle of Allora. His wounds in a few days were nearly cured; but the deepest had been inflicted on his spirit. He was constantly buried in a profound melancholy.

The alcayde, who had conceived a great regard for him, treated him more as a friend than a captive, and tried in every way to cheer him-but in vain; he was always sad and moody, and, when on the battlements of the castle, would keep his eyes turned to the south, with a fixed and wistful gaze.

"How is this?" exclaimed the alcayde, reproachfully, "that you, who were so hardy and fearless in the field, should lose all spirit when a captive? If any secret grief preys on your heart, confide it to me, as to a friend, and I promise, on the faith of a cavalier, that you shall have no cause to repent the disclosure."

The Moorish knight kissed the hand of the alcayde. "Noble cavalier," said he, "that I am cast down in spirit, is not from my wounds, which are slight, nor from my captivity, for your kindness has robbed it of all gloom; nor from my defeat, for to be conquered by so accomplished and renowned a cavalier is no disgrace. But to explain the cause of my grief, it is necessary to give some particulars of my story; and this I am moved to do, by the sympathy you have manifested toward me, and the magnanimity that shines through all your actions.

66

Know, then, that my name is Abendaraez, and that I am of the noble but unfortunate line of the Abencerrages. You have doubtless heard of the destruction that fell upon our race. Charged with treasonable designs, of which they were entirely innocent, many of them were beheaded, the rest banished; so that not an Abencerrage was permitted to remain in

Grenada, excepting my father and my uncle, whose innocence was proved, even to the satisfaction of their persecutors. It was decreed, however, that should they have children, the sons should be educated at a distance from Granada, and the daughters should be married out of the kingdom.

66

Conformably to this decree, I was sent, while yet an infant, to be reared in the fortress of Cartama, the alcayde of which was an ancient friend of my father. He had no children, and received me into his family as his own child, treating me with the kindness and affection of a father: and I grew up in the belief that he really was such. A few years afterward, his wife gave birth to a daughter, but his tenderness toward me continued undiminished. I thus grew up with Xarisa, for so the infant daughter of the alcayde was called, as her own brother. I beheld her charms unfolding as it were leaf by leaf, like the morning rose, each moment disclosing fresh sweetness and beauty, and thought the growing passion which I felt for her was mere fraternal affection.

"At length one day I accidentally overheard a conversation between the alcayde and his confidential domestic, of which I found myself the subject.

"In this I learnt the secret of my real parentage, which the alcayde had withheld from me as long as possible, through reluctance to inform me of my being of a proscribed and unlucky race. It was time now, he thought, to apprise me of the truth, that I might adopt a career in life.

"I retired without letting it be perceived that I had overheard the conversation. The intelligence it conveyed would have overwhelmed me at an earlier period: but now the intimation that Xarisa was not my sister operated like magic. In an instant the brotherly affection with which my heart at times had throbbed almost to excess, was transformed into ardent love.

66

I sought Xarisa in the garden, where I found her in a bower of jasmines, arranging her beautiful hair in the mirror of a crystal fountain. I ran to her with open arms, and was received with a sister's embraces; upbraiding me for leaving her so long alone.

66

We seated ourselves by the fountain, and I hastened to reveal the secret conversation I had overheard.

"Alas!' cried she, then our happiness is at an end!' "How!' cried I, 'wilt thou cease to love me because I am not thy brother ?'

"Alas, no!' replied she, gently withdrawing from my embrace; but when it is once made known we are not brother

and sister, we shall no longer be permitted to be thus always together.'

66

In fact, from that moment our intercourse took a new character. We met often at the fountain among the jasmines, but Xarisa no longer advanced with open arms to meet me. She became reserved and silent, and would blush and cast down her eyes, when I seated myself beside her. My heart became a prey to the thousand doubts and fears that ever attend upon true love. Restless and uneasy, I looked back with regret to our unreserved intercourse, when we supposed ourselves brother and sister; yet I would not have had the relationship, true for the world.

66

6

"While matters were in this state between us, an order came from the King of Granada for the alcayde to take command of the fortress of Coyn, on the Christian frontier. He prepared to remove with all his family, but signified that I should remain at Cartama. I declared that I could not be parted from Xarisa. That is the very cause,' said he, 'why I leave thee behind. It is time, Abendaraez, thou shouldst know the secret of thy birth. Thou art no son of mine, neither is Xarisa thy sister.' 'I know it all,' exclaimed I, ' and I love her with tenfold the affection of a brother. have brought us up together: you have made us necessary to each other's happiness; our hearts have entwined themselves with our growth; do not now tear them asunder. Fill up the measure of your kindness; be indeed a father to me, by giving me Xarisa for my wife.'

66

You

The brow of the alcayde darkened as I spoke. 'Have I then been deceived?' said he. 'Have those nurtured in my very bosom been conspiring against me? Is this your return for my paternal tenderness P-to beguile the affections of my child, and teach her to deceive her father? It would have been cause enough to refuse thee the hand of my daughter, that thou wert of a proscribed race, who can never approach the walls of Granada; this, however, I might have passed over; but never will I give my daughter to a man who has endeavoured to win her from me by deception.'

66

6

"All my attempts to vindicate myself and Xarisa were unavailing. I retired in anguish from his presence, and seeking Xarisa, told her of this blow, which was worse than death to me. Xarisa,' said I, we part for ever! I shall never see thee more! Thy father will guard thee rigidly. Thy beauty and his wealth will soon attract some happier rival, and I shall be forgotten!'

"Xarisa reproached my want of faith, and promised eternal constancy. I still doubted and desponded, until, moved by