e betrayed me to your hands, and the Curse of
Old rests with them evermore--Amen! The disguise is rent: Almamen, the
santon, is the son of Issachar the Jew!"

More might he have said, but the spell was broken. With a ferocious
yell, those living waves of the multitude rushed over the stern fanatic;
six cimiters passed through him, and he fell not: at the seventh he
was a corpse. Trodden in the clay--then whirled aloft--limb torn from
limb,--ere a man could have drawn breath nine times, scarce a vestige of
the human form was left to the mangled and bloody clay.

One victim sufficed to slake the wrath of the crowd. They gathered like
wild beasts whose hunger is appeased, around their monarch, who in vain
had endeavored to stay their summary revenge, and who now, pale and
breathless, shrank from the passions he had excited. He faltered forth a
few words of remonstrance and exhortation, turned the head of his steed,
and took his way to his palace.

The crowd dispersed, but not yet to their homes. The crime of Almamen
worked against his whole race. Some rushed to the Jews' quarter, which
they set on fire; others to the lonely mansion of Almamen.

Ximen, on quitting the king, had been before the mob. Not anticipating
such an effect of the popular rage, he had hastened to the house, which
he now deemed at length his own. He had just reached the treasury of
his dead lord--he had just feasted his eyes on the massive ingots and
glittering gems; in the lust of his heart he had just cried aloud, "And
these are mine!" when he heard the roar of the mob below the wall,--when
he saw the glare of their torches against the casement. It was in vain
that he shrieked aloud, "I am the man that exposed the Jew!" the wild
wind scattered his words over a deafened audience. Driven from his
chamber by the smoke and flame, afraid to venture forth amongst the
crowd, the miser loaded himself with the most precious of the store: he
descended the steps, he bent his way to the secret vault, when suddenly
the floor, pierced by the flames, crashed under him, and the fire rushed
up in a fiercer and more rapid volume, as the death-shriek broke through
that lurid shroud.

Such were the principal events of the last night of the Moorish dynasty
in Granada.

CHAPTER VII. THE END.

Day dawned upon Granada: the populace had sought their homes, and a
profound quiet wrapped the streets, save where, from the fires committed
in the late tumult, was yet