es, with
a mere handful of guards to lead the way. There were bondmaidens and
seamstresses, an ancient nurse and a tutor of languages; while astride
of a palfrey at her father's side rode the youthful lady of the
castle. Her veil was wet upon her cheeks, her eyes were filled with
shadows; yet she rode proudly, like a princess.

Once more the train moved past the sun-baked walls of the monastery,
across the plain to the mountain road that led to the land of bounty
and of culture. Late that afternoon Brother Joseph learned from the
lips of a herdsman that the beauteous Zahra, flower of all the Moorish
race, had gone to Cordova to study music.

II

Abul Malek once more rode home alone to his castle; but this time as
he dismounted at his door he smiled at the monastery below.

Four years crept by, during which the Saracen lord brooded over the
valley and the monk Joseph went his simple way, rendering service
where he could, preaching, by the example of his daily life and his
unselfish devotion, a sermon more powerful than his lips could utter.
Through it all the Moor watched him carefully, safeguarding him as a
provident farmer fattens a sheep for the slaughter. Once a year the
father rode southward to Cordova, bringing news with his return that
delighted the countryside, news that penetrated even the walls of San
Sebastian and filled the good men therein with gladness. It seemed
that the maiden Zahra was becoming a great musician. She pursued her
studies in the famous school of Ali-Zeriab, and not even Moussali
himself, that most gifted of Arabian singers, could bring more tender
notes from the lute than could this fair daughter of Catalonia. Her
skill transcended that of Al Farabi, for the harp, the tabor, and the
mandolin were wedded to her dancing fingers; and, most marvelous of
all, her soul was so filled with poetry that her verses were sung from
Valencia to Cadiz. It was said that she could move men to laughter, to
tears, to deeds of heroism--that she could even lull them to sleep by
the potency of her magic. She had once played before the Caliph under
amazing circumstances.

The Prince of True Believers, so ran the story, had quarreled with
his favorite wife, and in consequence had fallen into a state of
melancholy so deep as to threaten his health and to alarm his
ministers. Do what they would, he still declined, until in despair the
Hadjeb sent for Zahra, daughter of Abul Malek. She came, surrounded by