rias was not present.
She thought that her lover had been murdered, but not that he had
abandoned her.

Malique now made a sign, and one of his companions untied the horse
which had been left behind.

"Come, fair maiden," he then said, addressing Theodora, "thou must mount
and follow us."

"Follow you! Oh! heavens, have pity on me!"

"We do pity thee, lady, for we intend to carry thee to a place of
safety, where, if thou knowest how to use to advantage the attractions
of which nature has been so prodigal to thee, thou mayest perchance
experience a lot far more fortunate than a Christian captive has a right
to expect when in the power of the oppressed and injured Moors."

"Alas! where do you lead me?" again tremblingly demanded Theodora.

"Even to our chief Caneri; and we can promise thee that if thy charms
are such as to insure his affections, thou wilt be honored with his
choice, and perhaps rank foremost amongst his wives."

"Oh! horror," cried the wretched girl, in frantic agony. "Kill me, oh!
in pity kill me, before I am overwhelmed with such degradation."

She threw herself on the ground, and fearfully clasped the knees of the
ferocious Moor.

"Kill thee!" re-echoed Malique; "no, no, thou art too beauteous, too
lovely. Thy grief at present for the death of the man thou bewailest,
makes thee call for a fate which some time hence thou wilt thank me to
have spared thee: with Caneri thou wilt learn to forget the lover thou
deplorest, for thou wilt find that a Moor can love even more sincerely
than a Christian."

Theodora entreated in vain. Deaf to her piercing cries, Malique mounted
her palfrey, and forcibly placed her before him to prevent her falling,
as her frame shook convulsively, and he began to fear he would shortly
have to support a lifeless burthen.

Night's sable pall had now overspread the drowsy earth. The moon no
longer afforded her light, and thick darkness hung over those mournful
solitudes. The listless silence was only broken by the tramp of one
solitary horse; while the suppressed gaiety of the Moors, and the deep
sighs that oft escaped from a sorrowing heart, but too plainly told the
tale of violence and distress.

A calm cold tranquillity presided over the place. The screech-owl gave
one gloomy shrill and prolonged note, and all was still again. But that
sound went thrilling to Theodora's heart, like the death-knell on the
mountain blast; while the night wind blew fearfully, and the d