every tower and fort. Nor were they long inactive: the Moors resolved
to retake what they considered the very threshold of their capital;
hastily assembled their forces, and regularly entered upon the siege.

While at Seville, the camp of Ferdinand had been joined by several
foreign chevaliers, amongst whom was an Italian knight, who had
excited the attention and curiosity of many of the younger Spaniards
from the mystery environing him. He was never seen without his armor.
His helmet always closed, keeping surlily aloof, he never mingled in
the brilliant jousts and tournaments of the camp, except when Arthur
Stanley chanced to be one of the combatants: he was then sure to be
found in the lists, and always selected the young Englishman as his
opponent. At first this strange pertinacity was regarded more as a
curious coincidence than actual design; but it occurred so often, that
at length it excited remark. Arthur himself laughed it off, suggesting
that the Italian had perhaps some grudge against England, and wished
to prove the mettle of her sons. The Italian deigned no explanation,
merely saying that he supposed the Spanish jousts were governed by the
same laws as others, and he was therefore at liberty to choose his own
opponent. But Arthur was convinced that some cause existed for this
mysterious hostility. Not wishing to create public confusion, he
contended himself by keeping a watch upon his movements. He found,
however, that he did not watch more carefully than he was watched,
and incensed at length, he resolved on calling his enemy publicly to
account for his dishonorable conduct. This, however, he found much
easier in theory than practice. The wily Italian, as if aware of his
intentions, skilfully eluded them; and as weeks passed without any
recurrence of their secret attacks. Stanley, guided by his own frank
and honorable feelings, believed his suspicions groundless, and
dismissed them altogether. On the tumultuary entrance of the
Spaniards, however, these suspicions were re-excited. Separated by the
press of contending warriors from the main body of his men, Stanley
plunged headlong into the thickest battalion of Moors, intending to
cut his way through them to the Marquis of Cadiz, who was at that
moment entering the town. His unerring arm and lightness of movement
bore him successfully onward. A very brief space divided him from his
friends: the spirited charger on which he rode, cheered by his hand
and voic