Scarcely had the fiery and high-souled Moor uttered his boast, than, from
some unseen hand amidst the groves, a javelin whirred past him, and as
the air it raised came sharp upon his cheek, half buried its quivering
shaft in the trunk of a tree behind him.

"Fly, fly, and save thyself! O God, protect him!" cried Leila; and she
vanished within the chamber.

The Moor did not wait the result of a deadlier aim; he turned; yet, in
the instinct of his fierce nature, not from, but against, the foe; his
drawn scimitar in his hand, the half-suppressed cry of wrath trembling on
his lips, he sprang forward in the direction the javelin had sped. With
eyes accustomed to the ambuscades of Moorish warfare, he searched
eagerly, yet warily through the dark and sighing foliage. No sign of
life met his gaze; and at length, grimly and reluctantly, he retraced his
steps, and quitted the demesnes; but just as he had cleared the wall, a
voice--low, but sharp and shrill--came from the gardens.

"Thou art spared," it said, "but, haply, for a more miserable doom!"




CHAPTER IV.

THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

The chamber into which Leila retreated bore out the character she had
given of the interior of her home. The fashion of its ornament and
decoration was foreign to that adopted by the Moors of Granada. It had a