d the king, laying his hand on the monk's shoulder, and
with a saturnine smile upon his countenance, "were religion silent in
this matter, policy has a voice loud enough to make itself heard. The
Jews demand equal rights; when men demand equality with their masters,
treason is at work, and justice sharpens her sword. Equality! these
wealthy usurers! Sacred Virgin! they would be soon buying up our
kingdoms."

The Dominican gazed hard on the king. "Son, I trust thee," he said, in a
low voice, and glided from the tent.

CHAPTER II. THE AMBUSH, THE STRIFE, AND THE CAPTURE.

The dawn was slowly breaking over the wide valley of Granada, as Almamen
pursued his circuitous and solitary path back to the city. He was now in
a dark and entangled hollow, covered with brakes and bushes, from
amidst which tall forest trees rose in frequent intervals, gloomy and
breathless in the still morning air. As, emerging from this jungle, if
so it may be called, the towers of Granada gleamed upon him, a human
countenance peered from the shade; and Almamen started to see two dark
eyes fixed upon his own.

He halted abruptly, and put his hand on his dagger, when a low sharp
whistle from the apparition before him was answered around--behind; and,
ere he could draw breath, the Israelite was begirt by a group of Moors,
in the garb of peasants.

"Well, my masters," said Almamen, calmly, as he encountered the wild
savage countenances that glared upon him, "think you there is aught to
fear from the solitary santon?"

"It is the magician," whispered one man to his neighbour--"let him
pass."

"Nay," was the answer, "take him before the captain; we have orders to
seize upon all we meet."

This counsel prevailed; and gnashing his teeth with secret rage, Almamen
found himself hurried along by the peasants through the thickest part of
the copse. At length, the procession stopped in a semicircular patch of
rank sward, in which several head of cattle were quietly grazing, and a
yet more numerous troop of peasants reclined around upon the grass.

"Whom have we here?" asked a voice which startled back the dark blood
from Almamen's cheek; and a Moor of commanding presence rose from the
midst of his brethren. "By the beard of the prophet, it is the false
santon! What dost thou from Granada at this hour?"

"Noble Muza," returned Almamen--who, though indeed amazed that one whom
he had imagined his victim was thus unaccountably become his judge,
ret