"I understand thy silence. And in what belief, maiden, wert thou reared
beneath his roof?"

"I know not what it is called among men," answered Leila, with firmness,
"but it is the faith of the ONE GOD, who protects His chosen, and shall
avenge their wrongs--the God who made earth and heaven; and who, in an
idolatrous and benighted world, transmitted the knowledge of Himself and
His holy laws, from age to age, through the channel of one solitary
people, in the plains of Palestine, and by the waters of the Hebron."

"And in that faith thou wert trained, maiden, by thy father?" said the
Dominican, calmly. "I am satisfied. Rest here, in peace: we may meet
again, soon."

The last words were spoken with a soft and tranquil smile--a smile in
which glazing eyes and agonising hearts had often beheld the ghastly omen
of the torture and the stake.

On quitting the unfortunate Leila, the monk took his way towards the
neighbouring tent of Ferdinand. But, ere he reached it, a new thought
seemed to strike the holy man; he altered the direction of his steps, and
gained one of those little shrines common in Catholic countries, and
which had been hastily built of wood, in the centre of a small copse, and
by the side of a brawling rivulet, towards the back of the king's
pavilion. But one solitary sentry, at the entrance of the copse, guarded
the consecrated place; and its exceeding loneliness and quiet were a
grateful contrast to the animated world of the surrounding camp. The
monk entered the shrine, and fell down on his knees before an image of
the Virgin, rudely sculptured, indeed, but richly decorated.