ber of his adherents. In vain he attempted to
harangue the infuriated throng from the window; he was driven back by a
shower of stones and other missiles. In this suspense and agony he
remained some time, during which he had the mortification to behold his
few remaining friends gradually deserting his side in proportion as the
danger became more imminent. All was tumult and anarchy, and the cries
which proceeded from without, predicted to Caneri's ears his approaching
and terrible fate. To the curses heaped on his devoted and abhorred
person, succeeded the appalling threats and the wild savage laugh of
exultation over his near downfall. Those who were formerly the most
abject of his slaves, were now more particularly conspicuous in
manifesting their revengeful disposition.

The outward gates had now given way to the ponderous hammers with a
terrible crash, and the frenzied mutineers rushing impetuously in,
traversed the hall and gallery without opposition, and directed their
course to the apartment of the chief.

The wretched Caneri, alike unable to meet his death like a man, by
opposing his rebellious soldiers, or to prevent by his own hand the
ignominy which threatened him, awaited in stupor the crisis of the
bursting storm. Aghast he rolled his starting eyes, glazed with agonized
terror; and he saw himself deserted in that dreadful moment by all his
dependants. All had forsaken him--all but one man; he alone, in spite of
the fate which inevitably awaited his adherence to the fallen chief,
still remained faithful to his side: it was Malique. There is an
instinctive fidelity, existing sometimes in the most unrefined and
barbarous minds, honorable to human nature,--the uncouth Malique was of
this stamp; he had received no favors from his master when in
prosperity, yet he now scorned to abandon him in adversity.

Caneri looked at him, and in spite of his forlorn and perilous
situation, could not but be moved at the sight of the faithful Malique.
The noble minded Moor stood by his side, his scymitar drawn, and
evincing on his countenance no signs of terror or dismay. Caneri, frail
as was the protection that could be derived from a single man, still
fondly clung to hope with the sordidness of a cowardly mind.

"My faithful Malique," he cried in a tone of agony; "Is there no hope?"

"None," replied Malique, sadly, but resolutely: "none, but to die like
brave Moors; draw your weapon, noble Caneri, and perish as becomes y