Still holding Lianor, now weeping quietly, in his arms, Luiz led the
way towards the road, where the palanquin stood, and placing the girl
gently in, raised her white hands passionately to his lips.

"Lianor, Lianor, my own darling!" he murmured, gazing into her pallid
face with lovelit eyes. "If I had been too late, and found you gone!"

Lianor smiled tremulously through her tears, and a blush mantled to
her cheeks.

"You have saved my life. I can never repay you," earnestly.

Panteleone, still pale and anxious, now appeared leading the little
widow, who seemed overjoyed at her release. She sank down gladly
beside Lianor, and then the palanquin was borne away, guarded by Luiz
and Panteleone, Satzavan walking behind.

Don Garcia's delight knew no bounds when he saw the procession
entering the palace gates, and he ran eagerly to receive his daughter.

"My loved child! How unwise I was to let you go, to send you into
danger," he cried, carrying her in his arms from the palanquin to the
marble hall. "If it had not been for our young friend, Falcam, I
should never have seen you again."

"But, papa, think! If we had not gone, this poor girl would have been
burnt to death," Lianor said, shudderingly, drawing Savitre towards
her.

"Ah, yes. Poor child!" stroking the young widow's glossy black hair.