e answer of Musa was a pathetic one. Never was there a Moslem, he said,
who less deserved such a fate; never a man of milder heart, braver soul,
or more pious and obedient disposition. In the end the poor old man broke
down, and he could only murmur,--

"Grant me his head, O Commander of the Faithful, that I may shut the lids
of his eyes."

"Thou mayest take it," was Soliman's reply.

And so Musa left the caliph's presence, heart-broken and disconsolate. It
is said that before he died he was forced to beg his bread. Of Tarik we
hear no more. He had fully repaid Musa for his injustice, but the caliph,
who perhaps feared to let any one become too great, failed to restore him
to his command, and he disappeared from history. The cruel Soliman lived
only a year after the death of the victim of his rage. He died in 717, of
remorse for his injustice to Musa, say some, but the record of history is
that he was defeated before Constantinople and died of grief.

Thus ends our story of the table of Solomon. It brought good to none who
had to do with it, and utter disaster to him who had made it an agent of
falsehood and avarice. Injustice cannot hope to hide itself behind a
talisman.

THE STORY OF QUEEN EXILONA.

When Roderic overthrew the ancient dynasty of Spain and made himself king,
he had the defences of the cities thrown down that they might not give
shelter to his enemies. Only the walls of the frontier cities were left,
and among these was the ancient city of Denia, on the Mediterranean
shores. Dread of the Moorish pirates was felt in this stronghold, and a
strong castle was built on a high rock that overlooked the sea. To the old
alcaide who served as governor of Denia word was brought, at the end of a
day of fierce tempest, that a Moorish ship was approaching the shore.
Instantly the bells were rung to rouse the people, and signal fires were
kindled on the tower that they might flash from peak to peak the news of
an invasion by the Moors.

But as the ship came closer it was seen that alarm had been taken too
soon. The vessel was alone and had evidently been in the grip of the
tempest. It was seen to be a bark rich in carving and gilding, adorned
with silken banderoles, and driven through the water by banks of crimson
oars; a vessel of state and ceremony, not a ship of war. As it came nearer
it was perceived to have suffered severely in the ruthless grasp of the
storm. Broken were its masts and shattered i