"Dost thou, in truth, suspect the faith of Muza Ben Abil Gazan?" said the
Moorish prince, in a tone of surprise and sorrow. "Unhappy king! I
deemed that my services, and not my defection, made my crime."

"Why do my people hate me? why do my armies menace?" said Boabdil,
evasively; "why should a subject possess that allegiance which a king
cannot obtain?"

"Because," replied Muza, boldly, "the king has delegated to a subject the
command he should himself assume. Oh, Boabdil!" he continued,
passionately--"friend of my boyhood, ere the evil days came upon us,--
gladly would I sink to rest beneath the dark waves of yonder river, if
thy arm and brain would fill up my place amongst the warriors of Granada.
And think not I say this only from our boyish love; think not I have
placed my life in thy hands only from that servile loyalty to a single
man, which the false chivalry of Christendom imposes as a sacred creed
upon its knights and nobles. But I speak and act but from one principle
--to save the religion of, my father and the land of my birth: for this I
have risked my life against the foe; for this I surrender my life to the
sovereign of my country. Granada may yet survive, if monarch and people
unite together. Granada is lost for ever, if her children, at this fatal
hour, are divided against themselves. If, then, I, O Boabdil! am the
true obstacle to thy league with thine own subjects, give me at once to
the bowstring, and my sole prayer shall be for the last remnant of the
Moorish name, and the last monarch of the Moorish dynasty."

"My son, my son! art thou convinced at last?" cried the queen, struggling
with her tears; for she was one who wept easily at heroic sentiments, but
never at the softer sorrows, or from the more womanly emotions.