ited the holy sepulchre, without being under the necessity of
commencing a terrible and useless war, which embitters everything,
spreads abroad continued misery, and which has separated forever the
land of the morning from Europe! What is there in the name of
possessor? Our rulers reverentially honored the grave of your Holy One,
whom we also consider a divine person; and how beautifully might his
sacred tomb become the cradle of a happy union, the source of an
alliance blessing all forever!"

Night overtook them during this conversation, darkness approached, and
the moon rose in quiet light from the dark forest. They descended
slowly towards the castle. Henry was full of thought, and his warlike
inspiration had entirely vanished. He observed a strange confusion in
the world; the moon assumed the appearance of a sympathizing spectator,
and raised him above the ruggedness of the earth's surface, which there
seemed so inconsiderable, however wild and insurmountable it might
appear to the wanderer below. Zulima walked silently by his side, hand
in hand with the child. Henry carried the lute. He endeavored to revive
the sinking hope of his companion, to revisit once again her home,
whilst he felt within him an earnest prompting to be her deliverer,
though in what manner he knew not. A strange power seemed to lie in his
simple words, for Zulima felt an unwonted tranquillity, and thanked him
in the most touching manner for his consolation.

The knights were yet in their cups, and the mother was engaged in
household gossip. Henry had no desire to return to the noisy hall. He
felt weary, and with his mother soon betook himself to the chamber,
that was set apart for them. He told her before he fell asleep, what
had happened, and soon sank into pleasant dreams. The merchants had
also retired betimes, and were early astir. The knights were in deep
sleep, when they started on their journey; but the lady of the house
tenderly took leave of them. Zulima had slept but little; an inward joy
had kept her awake; she made her appearance as they were departing, and
humbly but eagerly assisted the travellers. Before they started, she
brought with many tears her lute to Henry, and touchingly besought him
to take it with him as a remembrance of Zulima.

"It was my brother's lute," she said, "who gave it to me at our last
parting; it is the only property I have saved. It seemed to please you
yesterday, and you leave me an inestimable gift,--