nature is doomed to. What matter, whether absence or death sever the
affections? Thou lamentest a father; I, a son, dead in the pride of his
youth and beauty--a husband, languishing in the fetters of the Moor.
Take comfort for thy sorrows, in the reflection that sorrow is the
heritage of all."

Ere Leila could reply, the orange-boughs that sheltered the spot where
they sat were put aside, and between the women and the fountain stood the
dark form of Almamen the Israelite. Leila rose, shrieked, and flung
herself, unconscious, on his breast.

"O Lord of Israel!" cried Almamen, in atone of deep anguish. "I, then,
at last regain my child? Do I press her to my heart? and is it only for
that brief moment, when I stand upon the brink of death? Leila, my
child, look up! smile upon thy father; let him feel, on his maddening and
burning brow, the sweet breath of the last of his race, and bear with
him, at least, one holy and gentle thought to the dark grave."

"My father! is it indeed my father?" said Leila, recovering herself, and
drawing back, that she might assure herself of that familiar face; "it is
thou! it is--it is! Oh! what blessed chance brings us together?"

"That chance is the destiny that hurries me to my tomb," answered
Almamen, solemnly. "Hark! hear you not the sound of their rushing
steeds--their impatient voices? They are on me now!"

"Who? Of whom speakest thou?"

"My pursuers--the horsemen of the Spaniard."