lilee!"

"Hold, murderer!" cried a voice of thunder; and an armed man burst
through the crowd and stood upon the platform. It was too late: thrice
the blade of the Hebrew had passed through that innocent breast; thrice
was it reddened with that virgin blood. Leila fell in the arms of her
lover; her dim eyes rested upon his countenance, as it shone upon
her, beneath his lifted vizor-a faint and tender smile played upon her
lips--Leila was no more.

One hasty glance Almamen cast upon his victim, and then, with a wild
laugh that woke every echo in the dreary aisles, he leaped from the
place. Brandishing his bloody weapon above his head, he dashed through
the coward crowd; and, ere even the startled Dominican had found
a voice, the tramp of his headlong steed rang upon the air; an
instant--and all was silent.

But over the murdered girl leaned the Moor, as yet incredulous of her
death; her head still unshorn of its purple tresses, pillowed on his
lap--her icy hand clasped in his, and her blood weltering fast over his
armour. None disturbed him; for, habited as the knights of Christendom,
none suspected his faith; and all, even the Dominican, felt a thrill of
sympathy at his distress. How he came hither, with what object,--what
hope, their thoughts were too much locked in pity to conjecture.
There, voiceless and motionless, bent the Moor, until one of the monks
approached and felt the pulse, to ascertain if life was, indeed, utterly
gone.

The Moor at first waved him haughtily away; but, when he divined the
monk's purpose, suffered him in silence to take the beloved hand. He
fixed on him his dark and imploring eyes; and when the father dropped
the hand, and, gently shaking his head, turned away, a deep and
agonising groan was all that the audience heard from that heart in which
the last iron of fate had entered. Passionately he kissed the brow, the
cheeks, the lips of the hushed and angel face, and rose from the spot.

"What dost thou here? and what knowest thou of yon murderous enemy of
God and man?" asked the Dominican, approaching.

Muza made no reply, as he stalked slowly through the chapel. The
audience was touched to sudden tears. "Forbear!" said they, almost with
one accord, to the harsh Inquisitor; "he hath no voice to answer thee."

And thus, amidst the oppressive grief and sympathy of the Christian
throng, the unknown Paynim reached the door, mounted his steed, and as
he turned once more and cast a hurried