lame; his
nostrils breathed fire; and he clenched and opened his hand excitedly,
as if contemplating some ruthless deed, as he strode into the apartment
and seized Walter's arm.

'Sir knight,' said Walter, amazed, and almost terrified, 'what aileth
thee?'

'By the might of Mary!' exclaimed the knight hurriedly and sternly, 'I
have seen a sight that has roused all the Norman within me, and made me
thirst for gold and pant for conquest.'

'And what of the caliph?' asked Walter.

'Tush,' answered the knight, contemptuously. 'This caliph is nobody,
save as master of this palace and city, and the treasure they contain.
By my father's soul! the caitiff wretch is rolling in wealth. May the
saints grant me patience to think of it calmly! The very throne of gold
on which he sits would, if coined into money, furnish forth an army,
capable, under a skilful and daring leader, of conquering kingdoms. Oh,
for five hundred brave men in mail, and the cross on their shoulders! By
the bones of Becket, I should, ere morning, be lord of all;' and,
torturing himself with the idea of such a prize escaping his grasp,
Bisset sunk into silence, and indulged in reflection.

'Sir knight,' said Walter, after a long pause, 'I have made a strange
discovery. Guy Muschamp, the English squire, my brother-in-arms, is a
captive in this palace, and in danger of death, because he will not
abandon his faith as a Christian. I have seen him; I have spoken with
him; I implore you to obtain his release; for,' added Walter, with tears
in his eyes, 'I must tell you frankly, that otherwise I must remain to
share his fate.'

'Fear not, boy,' said Bisset, touched with the squire's emotion; 'I will
see to his being ransomed. In truth, I hardly think there will be much
difficulty; for this caliph is a miser--a mean, detestable miser--and
would sell anything for bezants--even his soul, if he had not already
pawned it to Satan, through his brokers Mahound and Termagaunt.' And,
too much occupied with his dream of seizing Bagdad, and carving out a
kingdom with his sword, the knight relapsed into silence, and scarcely
moved till evening fell.

It was just after sunset, and Bisset was rapt in thought, and Walter
Espec perplexing his soul about Guy Muschamp, when suddenly they were
aroused by the voice of the Muezzin, who, according to the custom of the
Saracens, standing on the minaret of a mosque hard by, solemnly
proclaimed three times--'There is but one God, and