aking for jousts and other festivities in honor
of this victory over the Christians, the captives of Zahara arrived--a
wretched train of men, women, and children, worn out with fatigue and
haggard with despair, and driven like cattle into the city gates by a
detachment of Moorish soldiery.

Deep was the grief and indignation of the people of Granada at this
cruel scene. Old men, who had experienced the calamities of warfare,
anticipated coming troubles. Mothers clasped their infants to their
breasts as they beheld the hapless females of Zahara with their children
expiring in their arms. On every side the accents of pity for the
sufferers were mingled with execrations of the barbarity of the king.
The preparations for festivity were neglected, and the viands which were
to have feasted the conquerors were distributed among the captives.

The nobles and alfaquis, however, repaired to the Alhambra to
congratulate the king; for, whatever storms may rage in the lower
regions of society, rarely do any clouds but clouds of incense rise to
the awful eminence of the throne. In this instance, however, a voice
rose from the midst of the obsequious crowd, and burst like thunder
upon the ears of Abul Hassan. "Woe! woe! woe! to Granada!" exclaimed the
voice; "its hour of desolation approaches. The ruins of Zahara will
fall upon our heads; my spirit tells me that the end of our empire is
at hand." All shrank back aghast, and left the denouncer of woe standing
alone in the centre of the hall. He was an ancient and hoary man in the
rude attire of a dervise. Age had withered his form without quenching
the fire of his spirit, which glared in baleful lustre from his eyes.
He was (say the Arabian historians) one of those holy men termed santons
who pass their lives in hermitages in fasting, meditation, and prayer
until they attain to the purity of saints and the foresight of prophets.
"He was," says the indignant Fray Antonio Agapida, "a son of Belial,
one of those fanatic infidels possessed by the devil who are sometimes
permitted to predict the truth to their followers, but with the proviso
that their predictions shall be of no avail."

The voice of the santon resounded through the lofty hall of the
Alhambra, and struck silence and awe into the crowd of courtly
sycophants. Muley Abul Hassan alone was unmoved: he eyed the hoary
anchorite with scorn as he stood dauntless before him, and treated his
predictions as the ravings of a maniac. T