Alhambra, and the knight, striding impatiently down the passage, thought
she would never come."

"Who, the moon?" asked Clover.

"No, of course not," replied Cecy, "a lady he was in love with. The next
verse is going to tell about her, only you interrupted.

"She wore a turban of silver, with a jewelled crescent. As she stole
down the corridor the beams struck it and it glittered like stars.

"'So you are come, Zuleika?'

"'Yes, my lord.'

"Just then a sound as of steel smote upon the ear, and Zuleika's
mail-clad father rushed in. He drew his sword, so did the other. A
moment more, and they both lay dead and stiff in the beams of the moon.
Zuleika gave a loud shriek, and threw herself upon their bodies. She was
dead, too! And so ends the Tragedy of the Alhambra."

"That's lovely," said Katy, drawing a long breath, "only very sad! What
beautiful stories you do write, Cecy! But I wish you wouldn't always
kill the people. Why couldn't the knight have killed the father,
and--no, I suppose Zuleika wouldn't have married him then. Well, the
father might have--oh, bother! why must anybody be killed, anyhow? why
not have them fall on each other's necks, and make up?"

"Why, Katy!" cried Cecy, "it wouldn't have been a tragedy then. You know
the name was A _Tragedy_ of the Alhambra."