Sons of Israel, when you recollect that you created Christendom, you may pardon the Christians even their autos da fe!

Fakredeen Shehaab, Emir of Canobia, and lineal descendant of the standard-bearer of the Prophet, had not such faith in Arabian principles as to dream of converting the Queen of the Ansarey. Quite the reverse; the Queen of the Ansarey had converted him. From the first moment he beheld Astarte, she had exercised over him that magnetic influence of which he was peculiarly susceptible, and by which Tancred at once attracted and controlled him. But Astarte added to this influence a power to which the Easterns in general do not very easily bow: the influence of sex. With the exception of Eva, woman had never guided the spirit or moulded the career of Fakredeen; and, in her instance, the sovereignty had been somewhat impaired by that acquaintance of the cradle, which has a tendency to enfeeble the ideal, though it may strengthen the affections. But Astarte rose upon him commanding and complete, a star whose gradual formation he had not watched, and whose unexpected brilliancy might therefore be more striking even than the superior splendour which he had habitually contemplated. Young, beautiful, queenly, impassioned, and eloquent, surrounded by the accessories that influence the imagination, and invested with fascinating mystery, Fakredeen, silent and enchanted, had yielded his spirit to Astarte, even before she revealed to his unaccustomed and astonished mind the godlike forms of her antique theogony. Eva and Tancred had talked to him of gods; Astarte had shown them to him. All visible images of their boasted divinities of Sinai and of Calvary with which he was acquainted were enshrined over the altars of the convents of Lebanon. He contrasted those representations without beauty or grace, so mean, and mournful, and spiritless, or if endued with attributes of power, more menacing than majestic, and morose rather than sublime, with those shapes of symmetry, those visages of immortal beauty, serene yet full of sentiment, on which he had gazed that morning with a holy rapture. The Queen had said that, besides Mount Sinai and Mount Calvary, there was also Mount Olympus. It was true; even Tancred had not challenged her assertion. And the legends of Olympus were as old as, nay, older than, those of the convent or the mosques.

This was no mythic fantasy of the beautiful Astarte; the fond tradition of a family, a race, even a nation. These were not the gods merely of the mountains: they had been, as they deserved to be, the gods of a great world, of great nations, and of great men. They were the gods of Alexander and of Caius Julius; they were the gods under whose divine administration Asia had been powerful, rich, luxurious and happy. They were the gods who had covered the coasts and plains with magnificent cities, crowded the midland ocean with golden galleys, and filled the provinces that were now a chain of wilderness and desert with teeming and thriving millions. No wonder the Ansarey were faithful to such deities. The marvel was why men should ever have deserted them. But man had deserted them, and man was unhappy. All, Eva, Tancred, his own consciousness, the surrounding spectacles of his life, assured him that man was unhappy, degraded, or discontented; at all events, miserable. He was not surprised that a Syrian should be unhappy, even a Syrian prince, for he had no career; he was not surprised that the Jews were unhappy, because they were the most persecuted of the human race, and in all probability, very justly so, for such an exception as Eva proved nothing; but here was an Englishman, young, noble, very rich, with every advantage of nature and fortune, and he had come out to Syria to tell them that all Europe was as miserable as themselves. What if their misery had been caused by their deserting those divinities who had once made them so happy?

A great question; Fakredeen indulged in endless combinations while he smoked countless nargilehs. If religion were to cure the world, suppose they tried this ancient and once popular faith, so very popular in Syria. The Queen of the Ansarey could command five-and-twenty thousand approved warriors, and the Emir of the Lebanon could summon a host, if not as disciplined, far more numerous. Fakredeen, in a frenzy of reverie, became each moment more practical. Asian supremacy, cosmopolitan regeneration, and theocratic equality, all gradually disappeared. An independent Syrian kingdom, framed and guarded by a hundred thousand sabres, rose up before him; an established Olympian religion, which the Druses, at his instigation, would embrace, and toleration for the Maronites till he could bribe Bishop Nicodemus to arrange a general conformity, and convert his great principal from the Patriarch into the Pontiff of Antioch. The Jews might remain, provided they negotiated a loan which should consolidate the Olympian institutions and establish the Gentile dynasty of Fakredeen and Astarte.



CHAPTER LIV.

Astarte is Jealous

WHEN Fakredeen bade Tancred as usual good-night, his voice was different from its accustomed tones; he had replied to Tancred with asperity several times during the evening; and when he was separated from his companion, he felt relieved. All unconscious of these changes and symptoms was the heir of Bellamont.

Though grave, one indeed who never laughed and seldom smiled, Tancred was blessed with the rarest of all virtues, a singularly sweet temper. He was grave, because he was always thinking, and thinking of great deeds. But his heart was soft, and his nature most kind, and remarkably regardful of the feelings of others. To wound them, however unintentionally, would occasion him painful disturbance. Though naturally rapid in the perception of character, his inexperience of life, and the self-examination in which he was so frequently absorbed, tended to blunt a little his observation of others. With a generous failing, which is not uncommon, he was prepared to give those whom he loved credit for the virtues which he himself possessed, and the sentiments which he himself extended to them. Being profound, steadfast, and most loyal in his feelings, he was incapable of suspecting that his elected friend could entertain sentiments towards him less deep, less earnest, and less faithful. The change in the demeanour of the Emir was, therefore, unnoticed by him. And what might be called the sullen irritability of Fakredeen was encountered with the usual gentleness and total disregard of self which always distinguished the behaviour of Lord Montacute.

The next morning they were invited by Astarte to a hawking party, and, leaving the rugged ravines, they descended into a softer and more cultivated country, where they found good sport. Fakredeen was an accomplished falconer, and loved to display his skill before the Queen. Tancred was quite unpractised, but Astarte seemed resolved that he should become experienced in the craft among her mountains, which did not please the Emir, as he caracoled in sumptuous dress on a splendid steed, with the superb falcon resting on his wrist.

The princes dined again with Keferinis; that, indeed, was to be their custom during their stay; afterwards, accompanied by the minister, they repaired to the royal divan, where they had received a general invitation. Here they found Astarte alone, with the exception of Cypros and her companions, who worked with their spindles apart; and here, on the pretext of discussing the high topics on which they had repaired to Gindarics, there was much conversation on many subjects. Thus passed one, two, and even three days; thus, in general, would their hours be occupied at Gindarics. In the morning the hawks, or a visit to some green valley, which was blessed with a stream and beds of oleander, and groves of acacia or sycamore. Fakredeen had no cause to complain of the demeanour of Astarte towards him, for it was most gracious and encouraging. Indeed, he pleased her; and she was taken, as many had been, by the ingenuous modesty, the unaffected humility, the tender and touching deference of his manner; he seemed to watch her every glance, and hang upon her every accent: his sympathy with her was perfect; he agreed with every sentiment and observation that escaped her. Blushing, boyish, unsophisticated, yet full of native grace, and evidently gifted with the most amiable disposition, it was impossible not to view with interest, and even regard, one so young and so innocent.

But while the Emir had no cause to be dissatisfied with the demeanour of Astarte to himself, he could not be unaware that her carriage to Tancred was different, and he doubted whether the difference was in his favour. He hung on the accents of Astarte, but he remarked that the Queen hung upon the accents of Tancred, who, engrossed with great ideas, and full of a great purpose, was unconscious of what did not escape the lynx-like glance of his companion. However, Fakredeen was not, under any circumstances, easily disheartened; in the present case, there were many circumstances to encourage him. This was a great situation; there was room for combinations. He felt that he was not unfavoured by Astarte; he had confidence, and a just confidence, in his power of fascination. He had to combat a rival, who was, perhaps, not thinking of conquest; at any rate, who was unconscious of success. Even had he the advantage, which Fakredeen was not now disposed to admit, he might surely be baffled by a competitor with a purpose, devoting his whole intelligence to his object, and hesitating at no means to accomplish it.

Fakredeen became great friends with Keferinis. He gave up his time and attentions much to that great personage; anointed him with the most delicious flattery, most dexterously applied; consulted him on great affairs which had no existence; took his advice on conjunctures which never could occur; assured Keferinis that, in his youth, the Emir Bescheer had impressed on him the importance of cultivating the friendly feelings and obtaining the support of the distinguished minister of the Ansarey; gave him some jewels, and made him enormous promises.

On the fourth day of the visit, Fakredeen found himself alone with Astarte, at least, without the presence of Tancred, whom Keferinis had detained in his progress to the royal apartment. The young Emir had pushed on, and gained an opportunity which he had long desired.

They were speaking of the Lebanon; Fakredeen had been giving Astarte, at her request, a sketch of Canobia, and intimating his inexpressible gratification were she to honour his castle with a visit; when, somewhat abruptly, in a suppressed voice, and in a manner not wholly free from embarrassment, Astarte said, 'What ever surprises me is, that Darkush, who is my servant at Damascus, should have communicated, by the faithful messenger, that one of the princes seeking to visit Gindarics was of our beautiful and ancient faith; for the Prince of England has assured me that nothing was more unfounded or indeed impossible; that the faith, ancient and beautiful, never prevailed in the land of his fathers; and that the reason why he was acquainted with the god-like forms is, that in his country it is the custom (custom to me most singular, and indeed incomprehensible) to educate the youth by teaching them the ancient poems of the Greeks, poems quite lost to us, but in which are embalmed the sacred legends.'

'We ought never to be surprised at anything that is done by the English,' observed Fakredeen; 'who are, after all, in a certain sense, savages. Their country produces nothing; it is an island, a mere rock, larger than Malta, but not so well fortified. Everything they require is imported from other countries; they get their corn from Odessa, and their wine from the ports of Spain. I have been assured at Beiroot that they do not grow even their own cotton, but that I can hardly believe. Even their religion is an exotic; and as they are indebted for that to Syria, it is not surprising that they should import their education from Greece.'

'Poor people!' exclaimed the Queen; 'and yet they travel; they wish to improve themselves?'

'Darkush, however,' continued Fakredeen, without noticing the last observation of Astarte, 'was not wrongly informed.'

'Not wrongly informed?'

'No: one of the princes who wished to visit Gindarics was, in a certain sense, of the ancient and beautiful faith, but it was not the Prince of the English.'

'What are these pigeons that you are flying without letters!' exclaimed Astarte, looking very perplexed.

'Ah! beautiful Astarte,' said Fakredeen, with a sigh; 'you did not know my mother.'

'How should I know your mother, Emir of the castles of Lebanon? Have I ever left these mountains, which are dearer to me than the pyramids of Egypt to the great Pasha? Have I ever looked upon your women, Maronite or Druse, walking in white sheets, as if they were the children of ten thousand ghouls; with horns on their heads, as if they were the wild horses of the desert?'

'Ask Keferinis,' said Fakredeen, still sighing; 'he has been at Bteddeen, the court of the Emir Bescheer. He knew my mother, at least by memory. My mother, beautiful Astarte, was an Ansarey.'

'Your mother was an Ansarey!' repeated Astarte, in a tone of infinite surprise; 'your mother an Ansarey? Of what family was she a child?'

'Ah!' replied Fakredeen, 'there it is; that is the secret sorrow of my life. A mystery hangs over my mother, for I lost both my parents in extreme childhood; I was at her heart,' he added, in a broken voice, 'and amid outrage, tumult, and war. Of whom was my mother the child? I am here to discover that, if possible. Her race and her beautiful religion have been the dream of my life. All I have prayed for has been to recognise her kindred and to behold her gods.'

'It is very interesting,' murmured the Queen.

'It is more than interesting,' sighed Fakredeen. 'Ah! beautiful Astarte! if you knew all, if you could form even the most remote idea of what I have suffered for this unknown faith;' and a passionate tear quivered on the radiant cheek of the young prince.

'And yet you came here to preach the doctrines of another,' said Astarte.

'I came here to preach the doctrines of another!' replied Fakredeen, with an expression of contempt; his nostril dilated, his lip curled with scorn. 'This mad Englishman came here to preach the doctrines of another creed, and one with which it seems to me, he has as little connection as his frigid soil has with palm trees. They produce them, I am told, in houses of glass, and they force their foreign faith in the same manner; but, though they have temples, and churches, and mosques, they confess they have no miracles; they admit that they never produced a prophet; they own that no God ever spoke to their people, or visited their land; and yet this race, so peculiarly favoured by celestial communication, aspire to be missionaries!'

'I have much misapprehended you,' said Astarte; 'I thought you were both embarked in a great cause.'

'Ah, you learnt that from Darkush!' quickly replied Fakredeen. 'You see, beautiful Astarte, that I have no personal acquaintance with Darkush. It was the intendant of my companion who was his friend; and it is through him that Darkush has learnt anything that he has communicated. The mission, the project, was not mine; but when I found my comrade had the means, which had hitherto evaded me, of reaching Gindarics, I threw no obstacles in his crotchety course. On the contrary, I embraced the opportunity even with fervour, and far from discouraging my friend from views to which I know he is fatally, even ridiculously, wedded, I looked forward to this expedition as the possible means of diverting his mind from some opinions, and, I might add, some influences, which I am persuaded can eventually entail upon him nothing but disappointment and disgrace.' And here Fakredeen shook his head, with that air of confidential mystery which so cleverly piques curiosity.

'Whatever may be his fate,' said Astarte, in a tone of seriousness, 'the English prince does not seem to me to be a person who could ever experience disgrace.'

'No, no,' quickly replied his faithful friend; 'of course I did not speak of personal dishonour. He is extremely proud and rash, and not in any way a practical man; but he is not a person who ever would do anything to be sent to the bagnio or the galleys. What I mean by disgrace is, that he is mixed up with transactions, and connected with persons who will damage, cheapen, in a worldly sense dishonour him, destroy all his sources of power and influence. For instance, now, in his country, in England, a Jew is never permitted to enter England; they may settle in Gibraltar, but in England, no. Well, it is perfectly well known among all those who care about these affairs, that this enterprise of his, this religious-politico-military adventure, is merely undertaken because he happens to be desperately enamoured of a Jewess at Damascus, whom he cannot carry home as his bride.'

'Enamoured of a Jewess at Damascus!' said Astarte, turning pale.

'To folly, to frenzy; she is at the bottom of the whole of this affair; she talks Cabala to him, and he Nazareny to her; and so, between them, they have invented this grand scheme, the conquest of Asia, perhaps the world, with our Syrian sabres, and we are to be rewarded for our pains by eating passover cakes.'

'What are they?'

'Festival bread of the Hebrews, made in the new moon, with the milk of he-goats.'

'What horrors!'

'What a reward for conquest!'

'Will the Queen of the English let one of her princes marry a Jewess?'

'Never; he will be beheaded, and she will be burnt alive, eventually; but, in the meantime, a great deal of mischief may occur, unless we stop it.'

'It certainly should be stopped.'

'What amuses me most in this affair,' continued Fakredeen, 'is the cool way in which this Englishman comes to us for our assistance. First, he is at Canobia, then at Gindarics; we are to do the business, and Syria is spoken of as if it were nothing. Now the fact is, Syria is the only practical feature of the case. There is no doubt that, if we were all agreed, if Lebanon and the Ansarey were to unite, we could clear Syria of the Turks, conquer the plain, and carry the whole coast in a campaign, and no one would ever interfere to disturb us. Why should they? The Turks could not, and the natives of Fran-guestan would not. Leave me to manage them. There is nothing in the world I so revel in as hocus-sing Guizot and Aberdeen. You never heard of Guizot and Aberdeen? They are the two Reis Effendis of the King of the French and the Queen of the English. I sent them an archbishop last year, one of my fellows, Archbishop Murad, who led them a pretty dance. They nearly made me King of the Lebanon, to put an end to disturbances which never existed except in the venerable Murad's representations.'

'These are strange things! Has she charms, this Jewess? Very beautiful, I suppose?'

'The Englishman vows so; he is always raving of her; talks of her in his sleep.'

'As you say, it would indeed be strange to draw our sabres for a Jewess. Is she dark or fair?'

'I think, when he writes verses to her, he always calls her a moon or a star; that smacks nocturnal and somewhat sombre.'

'I detest the Jews; but I have heard their women are beautiful.'

'We will banish them all from our kingdom of Syria,' said Fakredeen, looking at Astarte earnestly.

'Why, if we are to make a struggle, it should be for something. There have been Syrian kingdoms.'

'And shall be, beauteous Queen, and you shall rule them. I believe now the dream of my life will be realised.'

'Why, what's that?'

'My mother's last aspiration, the dying legacy of her passionate soul, known only to me, and never breathed to human being until this moment.'

'Then you recollect your mother?'

'It was my nurse, long since dead, who was the depositary of the injunction, and in due time conveyed it to me.'

'And what was it?'

'To raise, at Deir el Kamar, the capital of our district, a marble temple to the Syrian goddess.'

'Beautiful idea!'

'It would have drawn back the mountain to the ancient faith; the Druses are half-prepared, and wait only my word.'

'But the Nazareny bishops,' said the Queen, 'whom you find so useful, what will they say?'

'What did the priests and priestesses of the Syrian goddess say, when Syria became Christian? They turned into bishops and nuns. Let them turn back again.'



CHAPTER LV.

Capture of a Harem

TANCRED and Fakredeen had been absent from Gindarics for two or three days, making an excursion in the neighbouring districts, and visiting several of those chieftains whose future aid might be of much importance to them. Away from the unconscious centre of many passions and intrigues, excited by the novelty of their life, sanguine of the ultimate triumph of his manoeuvres, and at times still influenced by his companion, the demeanour of the young Emir of Lebanon to his friend resumed something of its wonted softness, confidence, and complaisance. They were once more in sight of the wild palace-fort of Astarte; spurring their horses, they dashed before their attendants over the plain, and halted at the huge portal of iron, while the torches were lit, and preparations were made for the passage of the covered way.

When they entered the principal court, there were unusual appearances of some recent and considerable occurrence: groups of Turkish soldiers, disarmed, reclining camels, baggage and steeds, and many of the armed tribes of the mountain.

'What is all this?' inquired Fakredeen.

''Tis the harem of the Pasha of Aleppo,' replied a warrior, 'captured on the plain, and carried up into the mountains to our Queen of queens.'

'The war begins,' said Fakredeen, looking round at Tancred with a glittering eye.

'Women make war on women,' he replied.

''Tis the first step,' said the Emir, dismounting; 'I care not how it comes. Women are at the bottom of everything. If it had not been for the Sultana Mother, I should have now been Prince of the Mountain.'

When they had regained their apartments the lordly Keferinis soon appeared, to offer them his congratulations on their return. The minister was peculiarly refined and mysterious this morning, especially with respect to the great event, which he involved in so much of obscurity, that, after much conversation, the travellers were as little acquainted with the occurrence as when they entered the courtyard of Gindarics.

'The capture of a pasha's harem is not water spilt on sand, lordly Keferinis,' said the Emir. 'We shall hear more of this.'

'What we shall hear,' replied Keferinis, 'is entirely an affair of the future; nor is it in any way to be disputed that there are few men who do not find it more difficult to foretell what is to happen than to remember what has taken place.'

'We sometimes find that memory is as rare a quality as prediction,' said Tancred.

'In England,' replied the lordly Keferinis; 'but it is never to be forgotten, and indeed, on the contrary, should be entirely recollected, that the English, being a new people, have nothing indeed which they can remember.'

Tancred bowed.

'And how is the most gracious lady, Queen of queens?' inquired Fakredeen.

'The most gracious lady, Queen of queens,' replied Keferinis, very mysteriously, 'has at this time many thoughts.'

'If she require any aid,' said Fakredeen, 'there is not a musket in Lebanon that is not at her service.'

Keferinis bent his head, and said, 'It is not in any way to be disputed that there are subjects which require for their management the application of a certain degree of force, and the noble Emir of the Lebanon has expressed himself in that sense with the most exact propriety; there are also subjects which are regulated by the application of a certain number of words, provided they were well chosen, and distinguished by an inestimable exactitude. It does not by any means follow that from what has occurred there will be sanguinary encounters between the people of the gracious lady, Queen of queens, and those that dwell in plains and cities; nor can it be denied that war is a means by which many things are brought to a final conjuncture. At the same time courtesy has many charms, even for the Turks, though it is not to be denied, or in any way concealed, that a Turk, especially if he be a pasha, is, of all obscene and utter children of the devil, the most entirely contemptible and thoroughly to be execrated.'

'If I were the Queen, I would not give up the harem,' said Fakredeen; 'and I would bring affairs to a crisis. The garrison at Aleppo is not strong; they have been obliged to march six regiments to Deir el Kamar, and, though affairs are comparatively tranquil in Lebanon for the moment, let me send a pigeon to my cousin Francis El Kazin, and young Syria will get up such a stir that old Wageah Pasha will not spare a single man. I will have fifty bonfires on the mountain near Beiroot in one night, and Colonel Rose will send off a steamer to Sir Canning to tell him there is a revolt in the Lebanon, with a double despatch for Aberdeen, full of smoking villages and slaughtered women!' and the young Emir inhaled his nargileh with additional zest as he recollected the triumphs of his past mystifications.

At sunset it was announced to the travellers that the Queen would receive them. Astarte appeared much gratified by their return, was very gracious, although in a different way, to both of them, inquired much as to what they had seen and what they had done, with whom they had conversed, and what had been said. At length she observed, 'Something has also happened at Gindarics in your absence, noble princes. Last night they brought part of a harem of the Pasha of Aleppo captive hither. This may lead to events.'

'I have already ventured to observe to the lordly Keferinis,' said Fakredeen, 'that every lance in the Lebanon is at your command, gracious Queen.'

'We have lances,' said Astarte; 'it is not of that I was thinking. Nor indeed do I care to prolong a quarrel for this capture. If the Pasha will renounce the tribute of the villages, I am for peace; if he will not, we will speak of those things of which there has been counsel between us. I do not wish this affair of the harem to be mixed up with what has preceded it. My principal captive is a most beautiful woman, and one, too, that greatly interests and charms me. She is not a Turk, but, I apprehend, a Christian lady of the cities. She is plunged in grief, and weeps sometimes with so much bitterness that I quite share her sorrow; but it is not so much because she is a captive, but because some one, who is most dear to her, has been slain in this fray. I have visited her, and tried to console her; and begged her to forget her grief and become my companion. But nothing soothes her, and tears flow for ever from eyes which are the most beautiful I ever beheld.'

'This is the land of beautiful eyes,' said Tancred, and Astarte almost unconsciously glanced at the speaker.

Cypros, who had quitted the attendant maidens immediately on the entrance of the two princes, after an interval, returned. There was some excitement on her countenance as she approached her mistress, and addressed Astarte in a hushed but hurried tone. It seemed that the fair captive of the Queen of the Ansarey had most unexpectedly expressed to Cypros her wish to repair to the divan of the Queen, although, the whole day, she had frequently refused to descend. Cypros feared that the presence of the two guests of her mistress might prove an obstacle to the fulfilment of this wish, as the freedom of social intercourse that prevailed among the Ansarey was unknown even among the ever-veiled women of the Maronites and Druses. But the fair captive had no prejudices on this head, and Cypros had accordingly descended to request the royal permission, or consult the royal will. Astarte spoke to Keferinis, who listened with an air of great profundity, and finally bowed assent, and Cypros retired.

Astarte had signified to Tancred her wish that he should approach her, while Keferinis at some distance was engaged in earnest conversation with Fakredeen, with whom he had not had previously the opportunity of being alone. His report of all that had transpired in his absence was highly favourable. The minister had taken the opportunity of the absence of the Emir and his friend to converse often and amply about them with the Queen. The idea of an united Syria was pleasing to the imagination of the young sovereign. The suggestion was eminently practicable. It required no extravagant combinations, no hazardous chances of fortune, nor fine expedients of political skill. A union between Fakredeen and Astarte at once connected the most important interests of the mountains without exciting the alarm or displeasure of other powers. The union was as legitimate as it would ultimately prove irresistible. It ensured a respectable revenue and a considerable force; and, with prudence and vigilance, the occasion would soon offer to achieve all the rest. On the next paroxysm in the dissolving empire of the Ottomans, the plain would be occupied by a warlike population descending from the mountains that commanded on one side the whole Syrian coast, and on the other all the inland cities from Aleppo to Damascus.

The eye of the young Emir glittered with triumph as he listened to the oily sentences of the eunuch. 'Lebanon,' he whispered, 'is the key of Syria, my Keferinis, never forget that; and we will lock up the land. Let us never sleep till this affair is achieved. You think she does not dream of a certain person, eh? I tell you, he must go, or we must get rid of him: I fear him not, but he is in the way; and the way should be smooth as the waters of El Arish. Remember the temple to the Syrian goddess at Deir el Kamar, my Keferinis! The religion is half the battle. How I shall delight to get rid of my bishops and those accursed monks: drones, drivellers, bigots, drinking my golden wine of Canobia, and smoking my delicate Latakia. You know not Canobia, Keferinis; but you have heard of it. You have been at Bted-deen? Well, Bteddeen to Canobia is an Arab moon to a Syrian sun. The marble alone at Canobia cost a million of piastres. The stables are worthy of the steeds of Solomon. You may kill anything you like in the forest, from panthers to antelopes. Listen, my Keferinis, let this be done, and done quickly, and Canobia is yours.'

'Do you ever dream?' said Astrate to Tancred. 'They say that life is a dream.' 'I sometimes wish it were. Its pangs are too acute for a shadow.'

'But you have no pangs.'

'I had a dream when you were away, in which I was much alarmed,' said Astarte. 'Indeed!'

'I thought that Gindarics was taken by the Jews. I suppose you have talked of them to me so much that my slumbering memory wandered.'

'It is a resistless and exhaustless theme,' said Tancred; 'for the greatness and happiness of everything, Gindarics included, are comprised in the principles of which they were the first propagators.'

'Nevertheless, I should be sorry if my dream came to be true,' said Astarte.

'May your dreams be as bright and happy as your lot, royal lady!' said Tancred.

'My lot is not bright and happy,' said the Queen; 'once I thought it was, but I think so no longer.'

'But why?'

'I wish you could have a dream and find out,' said the Queen. 'Disquietude is sometimes as perplexing as pleasure. Both come and go like birds.'

'Like the pigeon you sent to Damascus,' said Tancred.

'Ah! why did I send it?'

'Because you were most gracious, lady.'

'Because I was very rash, noble prince.'

'When the great deeds are done to which this visit will lead, you will not think so.'

'I am not born for great deeds; I am a woman, and I am content with beautiful ones.'

'You still dream of the Syrian goddess,' said Tan-cred.

'No; not of the Syrian goddess. Tell me: they say the Hebrew women are very lovely, is it so?'

'They have that reputation.'

'But do you think so?'

'I have known some distinguished for their beauty.'

'Do they resemble the statue in our temple?'

'Their style is different,' said Tancred; 'the Greek and the Hebrew are both among the highest types of the human form.'

'But you prefer the Hebrew?'

'I am not so discriminating a critic,' said Tancred; 'I admire the beautiful.'

'Well, here comes my captive,' said the Queen; 'if you like, you shall free her, for she wonderfully takes me. She is a Georgian, I suppose, and bears the palm from all of us. I will not presume to contend with her: she would vanquish, perhaps, even that fair Jewess of whom, I hear, you are so enamoured.'

Tancred started, and would have replied, but Cypros advanced at this moment with her charge, who withdrew her veil as she seated herself, as commanded, before the Queen. She withdrew her veil, and Fakredeen and Tancred beheld Eva!



CHAPTER LVI.

Eva a Captive

IN ONE of a series of chambers excavated in the mountains, yet connected with the more artificial portion of the palace, chambers and galleries which in the course of ages had served for many purposes, sometimes of security, sometimes of punishment; treasuries not unfrequently, and occasionally prisons; in one of these vast cells, feebly illumined from apertures above, lying on a rude couch with her countenance hidden, motionless and miserable, was the beautiful daughter of Besso, one who had been bred in all the delights of the most refined luxury, and in the enjoyment of a freedom not common in any land, and most rare among the Easterns.

The events of her life had been so strange and rapid during the last few days that, even amid her woe, she revolved in her mind their startling import. It was little more than ten days since, under the guardianship of her father, she had commenced her journey from Damascus to Aleppo. When they had proceeded about half way, they were met at the city of Horns by a detachment of Turkish soldiers, sent by the Pasha of Aleppo, at the request of Hillel Besso, to escort them, the country being much troubled in consequence of the feud with the Ansarey. Notwithstanding these precautions, and although, from the advices they received, they took a circuitous and unexpected course, they were attacked by the mountaineers within half a day's journey of Aleppo; and with so much strength and spirit, that their guards, after some resistance, fled and dispersed, while Eva and her attendants, after seeing her father cut down in her defence, was carried a prisoner to Gindarics.

Overwhelmed by the fate of her father, she was at first insensible to her own, and was indeed so distracted that she delivered herself up to despair. She was beginning in some degree to collect her senses, and to survey her position with some comparative calmness, when she learnt from the visit of Cypros that Fakredeen and Tancred were, by a strange coincidence, under the same roof as herself. Then she recalled the kind sympathy and offers of consolation that had been evinced and proffered to her by the mistress of the castle, to whose expressions at the time she had paid but an imperfect attention. Under these circumstances she earnestly requested permission to avail herself of a privilege, which had been previously offered and refused, to become the companion, rather than the captive, of the Queen of the Ansarey; so that she might find some opportunity of communicating with her two friends, of inquiring about her father, and of consulting with them as to the best steps to be adopted in her present exigency.

The interview, from which so much was anticipated, had turned out as strange and as distressful as any of the recent incidents to which it was to have brought balm and solace. Recognised instantly by Tancred and the young Emir, and greeted with a tender respect, almost equal to the surprise and sorrow which they felt at beholding her, Astarte, hitherto so unexpectedly gracious to her captive, appeared suddenly agitated, excited, haughty, even hostile. The Queen had immediately summoned Fakredeen to her side, and there passed between them some hurried and perturbed explanations; subsequently she addressed some inquiries to Tancred, to which he replied without reserve. Soon afterwards, Astarte, remaining intent and moody, the court was suddenly broken up; Keferinis signifying to the young men that they should retire, while Astarte, without bestowing on them her usual farewell, rose, and, followed by her maidens, quitted the chamber. As for Eva, instead of returning to one of the royal apartments which had been previously allotted to her, she was conducted to what was in fact a prison.

There she had passed the night and a portion of the ensuing day, visited only by Cypros, who, when Eva would have inquired the cause of all this mysterious cruelty and startling contrast to the dispositions which had preceded it, only shook her head and pressed her finger to her lip, to signify the impossibility of her conversing with her captive.

It was one of those situations where the most gifted are deserted by their intelligence; where there is as little to guide as to console; where the mystery is as vast as the misfortune; and the tortured apprehension finds it impossible to grapple with irresistible circumstances.

In this state, the daughter of Besso, plunged in a dark reverie, in which the only object visible to her mind's eye was the last glance of her dying father, was roused from her approaching stupor by a sound, distinct, yet muffled, as if some one wished to attract her attention, without startling her by too sudden an interruption. She looked up; again she heard the sound, and then, in a whispered tone, her name——

'Eva!'

'I am here.'

'Hush!' said a figure, stealing into the caverned chamber, and then throwing off his Syrian cloak, revealing to her one whom she recognised.

'Fakredeen,' she said, starting from her couch, 'what is all this?'

The countenance of Fakredeen was distressed and agitated; there was an expression of alarm, almost of terror, stamped upon his features.

'You must follow me,' he said; 'there is not a moment to lose; you must fly!'

'Why and whither?' said Eva. 'This capture is one of plunder not of malice, or was so a few hours back. It is not sorrow for myself that overwhelmed me. But yesterday, the sovereign of these mountains treated me with a generous sympathy, and, if it brought me no solace, it was only because events have borne, I fear, irremediable woe. And now I suddenly find myself among my friends; friends, who, of all others, I should most have wished to encounter at this moment, and all is changed. I am a prisoner, under every circumstance of harshness, even of cruelty, and you speak to me as if my life, my immediate existence, was in peril.'

'It is.'

'But why?'

Fakredeen wrung his hands, and murmured, 'Let us go.'

'I scarcely care to live,' said Eva; 'and I will not move until you give me some clue to all this mystery.'

'Well, then, she is jealous of you; the Queen, Astarte; she is jealous of you with the English prince, that man who has brought us all so many vexations.' 'Is it he that has brought us so many vexations?' replied Eva. 'The Queen jealous of me, and with the English prince! 'Tis very strange. We scarcely exchanged a dozen sentences together, when all was disturbed and broken up. Jealous of me! Why, then, was she anxious that I should descend to her divan? This is not the truth, Fakredeen.'

'Not all; but it is the truth; it is, indeed. The Queen is jealous of you: she is in love with Tancred; a curse be on him and her both! and somebody has told her that Tancred is in love with you.' 'Somebody! When did they tell her?' 'Long ago; long ago. She knew, that is, she had been told, that Tancred was affianced to the daughter of Besso of Damascus; and so this sudden meeting brought about a crisis. I did what I could to prevent it; vowed that you were only the cousin of the Besso that she meant; did everything, in short, I could to serve and save you; but it was of no use. She was wild, is wild, and your life is in peril.'

Eva mused a moment. Then, looking up, she said, 'Fakredeen, it is you who told the Queen this story. You are the somebody who has invented this fatal falsehood. What was your object I care not to inquire, knowing full well, that, if you had an object, you never would spare friend or foe. Leave me. I have little wish to live; but I believe in the power of truth. I will confront the Queen and tell her all. She will credit what I say; if she do not, I can meet my fate; but I will not, now or ever, entrust it to you.'

Thereupon Fakredeen burst into a flood of passionate tears, and, throwing himself on the ground, kissed Eva's feet, and clung to her garments which he embraced, sobbing, and moaning, and bestowing on her endless phrases of affection, mixed with imprecations on his own head and conduct.

'O Eva! my beloved Eva, sister of my soul, it is of no use telling you any lies! Yes, I am that villain and that idiot who has brought about all this misery, misery enough to turn me mad, and which, by a just retribution, has destroyed all the brilliant fortunes which were at last opening on me. This Frank stranger was the only bar to my union with the sovereign of these mountains, whose beauty you have witnessed, whose power, combined with my own, would found a kingdom. I wished to marry her. You cannot be angry with me, Eva, for that. You know very well that, if you had married me yourself, we should neither of us have been in the horrible situation in which we now find ourselves. Ah! that would have been a happy union! But let that pass. I have always been the most unfortunate of men; I have never had justice done me. Well, she loved this prince of Franguestan. I saw it; nothing escapes me. I let her know that he was devoted to another. Why I mentioned your name I cannot well say; perhaps because it was the first that occurred to me; perhaps because I have a lurking suspicion that he really does love you. The information worked.

My own suit prospered. I bribed her minister. He is devoted to me. All was smiling. How could I possibly have anticipated that you would ever arrive here! When I saw you, I felt that all was lost. I endeavoured to rally affairs, but it was useless. Tan-cred has no finesse; his replies neutralised, nay, destroyed, all my counter representations. The Queen is a whirlwind. She is young; she has never been crossed in her life. You cannot argue with her when her heart is touched. In short, all is ruined;' and Fakredeen hid his weeping face in the robes of Eva. 'What misery you prepare for yourself, and for all who know you!' exclaimed Eva. 'But that has happened which makes me insensible to further grief.'

'Yes; but listen to what I say, and all will go right. I do not care in the least for my own disappointment. That now is nothing. It is you, it is of you only that I think, whom I wish to save. Do not chide me: pardon me, pardon me, as you have done a thousand times; pardon and pity me. I am so young and really so inexperienced; after all, I am only a child; besides, I have not a friend in the world except you. I am a villain, a fool; all villains are. I know it. But I cannot help it. I did not make myself. The question now is, How are we to get out of this scrape? How are we to save your life?'

'Do you really mean, Fakredeen, that my life is in peril?'

'Yes, I do,' said the Emir, crying like a child.

'You do not know the power of truth, Fakredeen. You have no confidence in it. Let me see the Queen.'

'Impossible!' he said, starting up, and looking very much alarmed.

'Why?'

'Because, in the first place, she is mad. Keferinis, that is, her minister, one of my creatures, and the only person who can manage her, told me this moment that it was a perfect Kamsin, and that, if he approached her again, it would be at his own risk; and, in the second place, bad as things are, they would necessarily be much worse if she saw you, because (and it is of no use concealing it any longer) she thinks you already dead.'

'Dead! Already dead!'

'Yes.'

'And where is your friend and companion?' said Eva. 'Does he know of these horrors?'

'No one knows of them except myself. The Queen sent for me last night to speak to me of the subject generally. It was utterly vain to attempt to disabuse her; it would only have compromised all of us. She would only have supposed the truth to be an invention for the moment. I found your fate sealed. In my desperation, the only thing that occurred to me was to sympathise with her indignation and approve of all her projects. She apprised me that you should not live four-and-twenty hours. I rather stimulated her vengeance, told her in secresy that your house had nearly effected my ruin, and that there was no sacrifice I would not make, and no danger that I would not encounter, to wreak on your race my long-cherished revenge. I assured her that I had been watching my opportunity for years. Well, you see how it is, Eva; she consigned to me the commission which she would have whispered to one of her slaves. I am here with her cognisance; indeed, by this time she thinks 'tis all over. You comprehend?'

'You are to be my executioner?'

'Yes; I have undertaken that office in order to save your life.'

'I care not to save my life. What is life to me, since he perhaps is gone who gave me that life, and for whom alone I lived!'

'O Eva! Eva! don't distract me; don't drive me absolutely mad! When a man is doing what I am for your sake, giving up a kingdom, and more than a kingdom, to treat him thus! But you never did me justice.' And Fakredeen poured forth renewed tears. 'Keferinis is in my pay; I have got the signet of the covered way. Here are two Mamlouk dresses; one you must put on. 'Without the gates are two good steeds, and in eight-and-forty hours we shall be safe, and smiling again.'

'I shall never smile again,' said Eva. 'No, Fakredeen,' she added, after a moment's pause, 'I will not fly, and you cannot fly. Can you leave alone in this wild place that friend, too faithful, I believe, whom you have been the means of leading hither?'

'Never mind him,' said the Emir. 'I wish we had never seen him. He is quite safe. She may keep him a prisoner perhaps. What then? He makes so discreet a use of his liberty that a little durance will not be very injurious. His life will be safe enough. Cutting off his head is not the way to gain his heart. But time presses. Come, my sister, my beloved Eva! In a few hours it may not be in my power to effect all this. Come, think of your father, of his anxiety, his grief. One glimpse of you will do him more service than the most cunning leech.'

Eva burst into passionate tears. 'He will never see us again. I saw him fall; never shall I forget that moment!' and she hid her face in her hands.

'But he lives,' said Fakredeen. 'I have been speaking to some of the Turkish prisoners. They also saw him fall; but he was borne off the field, and, though insensible, it was believed that the wound was not fatal. Trust me, he is at Aleppo.' 'They saw him borne off the field?' 'Safe, and, if not well, far from desperate.' 'O God of my fathers!' said Eva, falling on her knees; 'thine is indeed a mercy-seat!'

'Yes, yes; there is nothing like the God of your fathers, Eva. If you knew the things that are going on in this place, even in these vaults and caverns, you would not tarry here an instant. They worship nothing but graven images, and the Queen has fallen in love with Tancred, because he resembles a marble statue older than the times of the pre-Adamite Sultans. Come, come!'

'But how could they know that he was far from desperate?'

'I will show you the man who spoke to him,' said Fakredeen; 'he is only with our horses. You can ask him any questions you like. Come, put on your Mamlouk dress, every minute is golden.'

'There seems to me something base in leaving him here alone,' said Eva. 'He has eaten our salt, he is the child of our tents, his blood will be upon our heads.'

'Well, then, fly for his sake,' said Fakredeen; 'here you cannot aid him; but when you are once in safety, a thousand things may be done for his assistance. I could return, for example.'

'Now, Fakredeen,' said Eva, stopping him, and speaking in a solemn tone, 'if I accompany you, as you now require, will you pledge me your word, that the moment we pass the frontier you will return to him.'

'I swear it, by our true religion, and by my hopes of an earthly crown.'



CHAPTER LVII.

Message of the Pasha

THE sudden apparition of Eva at Gindarics, and the scene of painful mystery by which it was followed, had plunged Tancred into the greatest anxiety and affliction. It was in vain that, the moment they had quitted the presence of Astarte, he appealed to Fakredeen for some explanation of what had occurred, and for some counsel as to the course they should immediately pursue to assist one in whose fate they were both so deeply interested. The Emir, for the first time since their acquaintance, seemed entirely to have lost himself. He looked perplexed, almost stunned; his language was incoherent, his gestures those of despair. Tancred, while he at once ascribed all this confused demeanour to the shock which he had himself shared at finding the daughter of Besso a captive, and a captive under circumstances of doubt and difficulty, could not reconcile such distraction, such an absence of all resources and presence of mind, with the exuberant means and the prompt expedients which in general were the characteristics of his companion, under circumstances the most difficult and unforeseen.

When they had reached their apartments, Fakredeen threw himself upon the divan and moaned, and, suddenly starting from the couch, paced the chamber with agitated step, wringing his hands. All that Tan-cred could extract from him was an exclamation of despair, an imprecation on his own head, and an expression of fear and horror at Eva having fallen into the hands of pagans and idolaters.

It was in vain also that Tancred endeavoured to communicate with Keferinis. The minister was invisible, not to be found, and the night closed in, when Tancred, after fruitless counsels with Baroni, and many united but vain efforts to open some communication with Eva, delivered himself not to repose, but to a distracted reverie over the present harassing and critical affairs.

When the dawn broke, he rose and sought Fakredeen, but, to his surprise, he found that his companion had already quitted his apartment. An unusual stillness seemed to pervade Gindarics this day; not a person was visible. Usually at sunrise all were astir, and shortly afterwards Keferinis generally paid a visit to the guests of his sovereign; but this day Keferinis omitted the ceremony, and Tancred, never more anxious for companions and counsellors, found himself entirely alone; for Baroni was about making observations, and endeavouring to find some clue to the position of Eva.

Tancred had resolved, the moment that it was practicable, to solicit an audience of Astarte on the subject of Eva, and to enter into all the representations respecting her which, in his opinion, were alone necessary to secure for her immediately the most considerate treatment, and ultimately a courteous release.

The very circumstance that she was united to the Emir of Canobia by ties so dear and intimate, and was also an individual to whom he himself was indebted for such generous aid and such invaluable services, would, he of course assumed, independently of her own interesting personal qualities, enlist the kind feelings of Astarte in her favour. The difficulty was to obtain this audience of Astarte, for neither Fakredeen nor Keferinis was to be found, and no other means of achieving the result were obvious.

About two hours before noon, Baroni brought word that he had contrived to see Cypros, from whom he gathered that Astarte had repaired to the great temple of the gods. Instantly, Tancred resolved to enter the palace, and if possible to find his way to the mysterious sanctuary. That was a course by no means easy; but the enterprising are often fortunate, and his project proved not to be impossible. He passed through the chambers of the palace, which were entirely deserted, and with which he was familiar, and he reached without difficulty the portal of bronze, which led to the covered way that conducted to the temple, but it was closed. Baffled and almost in despair, a distant chorus reached his ear, then the tramp of feet, and then slowly the portal opened. He imagined that the Queen was returning; but, on the contrary, pages and women and priests swept by without observing him, for he was hidden by one of the opened valves, but Astarte was not there; and, though the venture was rash, Tancred did not hesitate, as the last individual in the procession moved on, to pass the gate. The portal shut instantly with a clang, and Tancred found himself alone and in comparative darkness. His previous experience, however, sustained him. His eye, fresh from the sunlight, at first wandered in obscurity, but by degrees, habituated to the atmosphere, though dim, the way was sufficiently indicated, and he advanced, till the light became each step more powerful, and soon he emerged upon the platform, which faced the mountain temple at the end of the ravine: a still and wondrous scene, more striking now, if possible, when viewed alone, with his heart the prey of many emotions. How full of adventure is life! It is monotonous only to the monotonous. There may be no longer fiery dragons, magic rings, or fairy wands, to interfere in its course and to influence our career; but the relations of men are far more complicated and numerous than of yore; and in the play of the passions, and in the devices of creative spirits, that have thus a proportionately greater sphere for their action, there are spells of social sorcery more potent than all the necromancy of Merlin or Friar Bacon.

Tancred entered the temple, the last refuge of the Olympian mind. It was race that produced these inimitable forms, the idealised reflex of their own peculiar organisation. Their principles of art, practised by a different race, do not produce the same results. Yet we shut our eyes to the great truth into which all truths merge, and we call upon the Pict, or the Sarmatian, to produce the forms of Phidias and Praxiteles.

Not devoid of that awe which is caused by the presence of the solemn and the beautiful, Tancred slowly traced his steps through the cavern sanctuary. No human being was visible. Upon his right was the fane to which Astarte led him on his visit of initiation. He was about to enter it, when, kneeling before the form of the Apollo of Antioch, he beheld the fair Queen of the Ansarey, motionless and speechless, her arms crossed upon her breast, and her eyes fixed upon her divinity, in a dream of ecstatic devotion.

The splendour of the ascending sun fell full upon the statue, suffusing the ethereal form with radiancy, and spreading around it for some space a broad and golden halo. As Tancred, recognising the Queen, withdrew a few paces, his shadow, clearly defined, rested on the glowing wall of the rock temple. Astarte uttered an exclamation, rose quickly from her kneeling position, and, looking round, her eyes met those of Lord Montacute. Instantly she withdrew her gaze, blushing deeply.

'I was about to retire,' murmured Tancred.

'And why should you retire?' said Astarte, in a soft voice, looking up.

'There are moments when solitude is sacred.'

'I am too much alone: often, and of late especially, I feel a painful isolation.'

She moved forward, and they re-entered together the chief temple, and then emerged into the sunlight. They stood beneath the broad Ionic portico, beholding the strange scene around. Then it was that Tancred, observing that Astarte cared not to advance, and deeming the occasion very favourable to his wishes, proceeded to explain to her the cause of his venturing to intrude on her this morning. He spoke with that earnestness, and, if the phrase may be used, that passionate repose, which distinguished him. He enlarged on the character of Besso, his great virtues, his amiable qualities, his benevolence and unbounded generosity; he sought in every way to engage the kind feelings of Astarte in favour of his family, and to interest her in the character of Eva, on which he dilated with all the eloquence of his heart. Truly, he almost did justice to her admirable qualities, her vivid mind, and lofty spirit, and heroic courage; the occasion was too delicate to treat of the personal charms of another woman, but he did not conceal his own deep sense of obligation to Eva for her romantic expedition to the desert in his behalf.

'You can understand then,' concluded Tancred, 'what must have been my astonishment and grief when I found her yesterday a captive. It was some consolation to me to remember in whose power she had fallen, and I hasten to throw myself at your feet to supplicate for her safety and her freedom.'

'Yes, I can understand all this,' said Astarte, in a low tone.

Tancred looked at her. Her voice had struck him with pain; her countenance still more distressed him. Nothing could afford a more complete contrast to the soft and glowing visage that a few moments before he had beheld in the fane of Apollo. She was quite pale, almost livid; her features, of exquisite shape, had become hard and even distorted; all the bad passions of our nature seemed suddenly to have concentred in that face which usually combined perfect beauty of form with an expression the most gentle, and in truth most lovely.

'Yes, I can understand all this,' said Astarte, 'but I shall not exercise any power which I may possess to assist you in violating the laws of your country, and outraging the wishes of your sovereign.'

'Violating the laws of my country!' exclaimed Tancred, with a perplexed look.

'Yes, I know all. Your schemes truly are very heroic and very flattering to our self-love. We are to lend our lances to place on the throne of Syria one who would not be permitted to reside in your own country, much less to rule in it?'

'Of whom, of what, do you speak?'

'I speak of the Jewess whom you would marry,' said Astarte, in a hushed yet distinct voice, and with a fell glance, 'against all laws, divine and human.'

'Of your prisoner?'

'Well you may call her my prisoner; she is secure.'

'Is it possible you can believe that I even am a suitor of the daughter of Besso?' said Tancred, earnestly. 'I wear the Cross, which is graven on my heart, and have a heavenly mission to fulfil, from which no earthly thought shall ever distract me. But even were I more than sensible to her charms and virtues, she is affianced, or the same as affianced; nor have I the least reason to suppose that he who will possess her hand does not command her heart.'

'Affianced?'

'Not only affianced, but, until this sad adventure, on the very point of being wedded. She was on her way from Damascus to Aleppo, to be united to her cousin, when she was brought hither, where she will, I trust, not long remain your prisoner.'

The countenance of Astarte changed; but, though it lost its painful and vindictive expression, it did not assume one of less distress. After a moment's pause, she murmured, 'Can this be true?'

'Who could have told you otherwise?'

'An enemy of hers, of her family,' continued Astarte, in a low voice, and speaking as if absorbed in thought; 'one who admitted to me his long-hoarded vengeance against her house.'

Then turning abruptly, she looked Tancred full in the face, with a glance of almost fierce scrutiny. His clear brow and unfaltering eye, with an expression of sympathy and even kindness on his countenance, met her searching look.

'No,' she said; 'it is impossible that you can be false.'

'Why should I be false? or what is it that mixes up my name and life with these thoughts and circumstances?'

'Why should you be false? Ah! there it is,' said Astarte, in a sweet and mournful voice. 'What are any of us to you!' And she wept.

'It grieves me to see you in sorrow,' said Tancred, approaching her, and speaking in a tone of kindness.

'I am more than sorrowful: this unhappy lady——' and the voice of Astarte was overpowered by her emotion.

'You will send her back in safety and with honour to her family,' said Tancred, soothingly. 'I would fain believe her father has not fallen. My intendant assures me that there are Turkish soldiers here who saw him borne from the field. A little time, and their griefs will vanish. You will have the satisfaction of having acted with generosity, with that good heart which characterises you; and as for the daughter of Besso, all will be forgotten as she gives one hand to her father and the other to her husband.'

'It is too late,' said Astarte in an almost sepulchral voice.

'What is that?'

'It is too late! The daughter of Besso is no more.'

'Jesu preserve us!' exclaimed Tancred, starting. 'Speak it again: what is it that you say?'

Astarte shook her head.

'Woman!' said Tancred, and he seized her hand, but his thoughts were too wild for utterance, and he remained pallid and panting.

'The daughter of Besso is no more; and I do not lament it, for you loved her.'

'Oh, grief ineffable!' said Tancred, with a groan, looking up to heaven, and covering his face with his hands: 'I loved her, as I loved the stars and sunshine.' Then, after a pause, he turned to Astarte, and said, in a rapid voice, 'This dreadful deed; when, how, did it happen?'

'Is it so dreadful?'

'Almost as dreadful as such words from woman's lips. A curse be on the hour that I entered these walls!'

'No, no, no!' said Astarte, and she seized his arm distractedly. 'No, no! No curse!'

'It is not true!' said Tancred. 'It cannot be true! She is not dead.'

'Would she were not, if her death is to bring me curses.'

'Tell me when was this?'

'An hour ago, at least.'

'I do not believe it. There is not an arm that would have dared to touch her. Let us hasten to her. It is not too late.'

'Alas! it is too late,' said Astarte. 'It was an enemy's arm that undertook the deed.'

'An enemy! What enemy among your people could the daughter of Besso have found?'

'A deadly one, who seized the occasion offered to a long cherished vengeance; one who for years has been alike the foe and the victim of her race and house. There is no hope!'

'I am indeed amazed. Who could this be?'

'Your friend; at least, your supposed friend, the Emir of the Lebanon.'

'Fakredeen?'

'You have said it.'

'The assassin and the foe of Eva!' exclaimed Tancred, with a countenance relieved yet infinitely perplexed. 'There must be some great misconception in all this. Let us hasten to the castle.'

'He solicited the office,' said Astarte; 'he wreaked his vengeance, while he vindicated my outraged feelings.'

'By murdering his dearest friend, the only being to whom he is really devoted, his more than friend, his foster-sister, nursed by the same heart; the ally and inspiration of his life, to whom he himself was a suitor, and might have been a successful one, had it not been for the custom of her religion and her race, which shrink from any connection with strangers and with Nazarenes.'

'His foster-sister!' exclaimed Astarte.

At this moment Cypros appeared in the distance, hastening to Astarte with an agitated air. Her looks were disturbed; she was almost breathless when she reached them; she wrung her hands before she spoke.

'Royal lady!' at length she said, 'I hastened, as you instructed me, at the appointed hour, to the Emir Fakredeen, but I learnt that he had quitted the castle.

Then I repaired to the prisoner; but, woe is me! she is not to be found.'

'Not to be found!'

'The raiment that she wore is lying on the floor of her prison. Methinks she has fled.'

'She has fled with him who was false to us all,' said Astarte, 'for it was the Emir of the Lebanon who long ago told me that you were affianced to the daughter of Besso, and who warned me against joining in any enterprise which was only to place upon the throne of Syria one whom the laws of your own country would never recognise as your wife.'

'Intriguer!' said Tancred. 'Vile and inveterate intriguer!'

'It is well,' said Astarte. 'My spirit is more serene.'

'Would that Eva were with any one else!' said Tancred, thoughtfully, and speaking, as it were, to himself.

'Your thoughts are with the daughter of Besso,' said Astarte. 'You wish to follow her, to guard her, to restore her to her family.'

Tancred looked round and caught the glance of the Queen of the Ansarey, mortified, yet full of affection.

'It seems to me,' he said, 'that it is time for me to terminate a visit that has already occasioned you, royal lady, too much vexation.'

Astarte burst into tears.

'Let me go,' she said, 'you want a throne; this is a rude one, yet accept it. You require warriors, the Ansarey are invincible. My castle is not like those palaces of Antioch of which we have often talked, and which were worthy of you, but Gindarics is impregnable, and will serve you for your headquarters until you conquer that world which you are born to command.'

'I have been the unconscious agent in petty machinations,' said Tancred. 'I must return to the desert to recover the purity of my mind. It is Arabia alone that can regenerate the world.'

At this moment Cypros, who was standing apart, waved her scarf, and exclaimed, 'Royal lady, I perceive in the distance the ever-faithful messenger;' whereupon Astarte looked up, and, as yet invisible to the inexperienced glance of Tancred, recognised what was an infinitely small dusky speck, each moment becoming more apparent, until at length a bird was observed by all of them winging its way towards the Queen.

'Is it the ever-faithful Karaguus,' said Astarte; 'or is it Ruby-lips that ever brings good news?'

'It is Karaguus,' said Cypros, as the bird drew nearer and nearer; 'but it is not Karaguus of Damascus. By the ring on its neck, it is Karaguus of Aleppo.'

The pigeon now was only a few yards above the head of the Queen. Fatigued, but with an eye full of resolution, it fluttered for a moment, and then fell upon her bosom. Cypros advanced and lifted its weary wing, and untied the cartel which it bore, brief words, but full of meaning, and a terrible interest.

'The Pasha, at the head of five thousand regular troops, leaves Haleb to-morrow to invade our land.'

'Go,' said Astarte to Tancred; 'to remain here is now dangerous. Thanks to the faithful messenger, you have time to escape with ease from that land which you scorned to rule, and which loved you too well.'

'I cannot leave it in the hour of peril,' said Tancred. 'This invasion of the Ottomans may lead to results of which none dream. I will meet them at the head of your warriors!'



CHAPTER LVIII.

Three Letters of Cabala

IS THERE any news?' asked Adam Besso of Issachar, the son of Selim, the most cunning leech at Aleppo, and who by day and by night watched the couch which bore the suffering form of the pride and mainstay of the Syrian Hebrews.

'There is news, but it has not yet arrived,' replied Issachar, the son of Selim, a man advanced in life, but hale, with a white beard, a bright eye, and a benignant visage.

'There are pearls in the sea, but what are they worth?' murmured Besso.

'I have taken a Cabala,' said Issachar, the son of Selim, 'and three times that I opened the sacred book, there were three words, and the initial letter of each word is the name of a person who will enter this room this day, and every person will bring news.'

'But what news?' sighed Besso. 'The news of Tophet and of ten thousand demons?'

'I have taken a Cabala,' said Issachar, the son of Selim, 'and the news will be good.'

'To whom and from whom? Good to the Pasha, but not to me! good to the people of Haleb, but not, perhaps, to the family of Besso.'

'God will guard over his own. In the meanwhile, I must replace this bandage, noble Besso. Let me rest your arm upon this cushion and you will endure less pain.'

'Alas! worthy Issachar, I have wounds deeper than any you can probe.'

The resignation peculiar to the Orientals had sustained Besso under his overwhelming calamity. He neither wailed nor moaned. Absorbed in a brooding silence, he awaited the result of the measures which had been taken for the release of Eva, sustained by the chance of success, and caring not to survive if encountering failure. The Pasha of Aleppo, long irritated by the Ansarey, and meditating for some time an invasion of their country, had been fired by the all-influential representations of the family of Besso instantly to undertake a step which, although it had been for some time contemplated, might yet, according to Turkish custom, have been indefinitely postponed. Three regiments of the line, disciplined in the manner of Europe, some artillery, and a strong detachment of cavalry, had been ordered at once to invade the contiguous territory of the Ansarey. Hillel Besso had accompanied the troops, leaving his uncle under his paternal roof, disabled by his late conflict, but suffering from wounds which in themselves were serious rather than perilous.

Four days had elapsed since the troops had quitted Aleppo. It was the part of Hillel, before they had recourse to hostile movements, to obtain, if possible, the restoration of the prisoners by fair means; nor were any resources wanting to effect this purpose. A courier had arrived at Aleppo from Hillel, apprising Adam Besso that the Queen of the Ansarey had not only refused to give up the prisoners, but even declared that Eva had been already released; but Hillel concluded that this was merely trifling. This parleying had taken place on the border; the troops were about to force the passes on the following day.

About an hour before sunset, on the very same day that Issachar, the son of Selim, had taken more than one Cabala, some horsemen, in disorder, were observed from the walls by the inhabitants of Aleppo, galloping over the plain. They were soon recognised as the cavalry of the Pasha, the irregular heralds, it was presumed, of a triumph achieved. Hillel Besso, covered with sweat and dust, was among those who thus early arrived. He hastened at a rapid pace through the suburb of the city, scattering random phrases to those who inquired after intelligence as he passed, until he reached the courtyard of his own house.

''Tis well,' he observed, as he closed the gate. 'A battle is a fine thing, but, for my part, I am not sorry to find myself at home.'

'What is that?' inquired Adam Besso, as a noise reached his ear.

''Tis the letter of the first Cabala,' replied Issachar, the son of Selim.

'Uncle, it is I,' said Hillel, advancing.

'Speak,' said Adam Besso, in an agitated voice; 'my sight is dark.'

'Alas, I am alone!' said Hillel.

'Bury me in Jehoshaphat,' murmured Besso, as he sank back.

'But, my uncle, there is hope.'

'Speak, then, of hope,' replied Besso, with sudden vehemence, and starting from his pillow.

'Truly I have seen a child of the mountains, who persists in the tale that our Eva has escaped.'

'An enemy's device! Are the mountains ours? Where are the troops?'

'Were the mountains ours, I should not be here, my uncle. Look from the ramparts, and you will soon see the plain covered with the troops, at least with all of them who have escaped the matchlocks and the lances of the Ansarey.'

'Are they such sons of fire?'

'When the Queen of the Ansarey refused to deliver up the prisoners, and declared that Eva was not in her power, the Pasha resolved to penetrate the passes, in two detachments, on the following morning. The enemy was drawn up in array to meet us, but fled after a feeble struggle. Our artillery seemed to carry all before it. But,' continued Hillel, shrugging his shoulders, 'war is not by any means a commercial transaction. It seemed that, when we were on the point of victory, we were in fact entirely defeated. The enemy had truly made a feigned defence, and had only allured us into the passes, where they fired on us from the heights, and rolled down upon our confused masses huge fragments of rock. Our strength, our numbers, and our cannon, only embarrassed us; there arose a confusion; the troops turned and retreated. And, when everything was in the greatest perplexity, and we were regaining the plain, our rear was pursued by crowds of cavalry, Kurds, and other Giaours, who destroyed our men with their long lances, uttering horrible shouts. For my own part, I thought all was over, but a good horse is not a bad thing, and I am here, my uncle, having ridden for twenty hours, nearly, without a pause.'

'And when did you see this child of the mountains who spoke of the lost one?' asked Besso, in a low and broken voice.

'On the eve of the engagement,' said Hillel. 'He had been sent to me with a letter, but, alas! had been plundered on his way by our troops, and the letter had been destroyed or lost. Nevertheless, he induced them to permit him to reach my tent, and brought these words, that the ever adorable had truly quitted the mountains, and that the lost letter had been written to that effect by the chieftain of the Ansarey.'

'Is there yet hope! What sound is that?'

''Tis the letter of the second Cabala,' said Issachar, the son of Selim.

And at this moment entered the chamber a faithful slave, who made signs to the physician, upon which Issachar rose, and was soon engaged in earnest conversation with him who had entered, Hillel tending the side of Besso. After a few minutes, Issachar approached the couch of his patient, and said, 'Here is one, my lord and friend, who brings good tidings of your daughter.'

'God of my fathers!' exclaimed Besso, passionately, and springing up.

'Still, we must be calm,' said Issachar; 'still, we must be calm.'

'Let me see him,' said Besso.

'It is one you know, and know well,' said Issachar. 'It is the Emir Fakredeen.'

'The son of my heart,' said Besso, 'who brings me news that is honey in my mouth.'

'I am here, my father of fathers,' said Fakredeen, gliding to the side of the couch.

Besso grasped his hand, and looked at him earnestly in the face. 'Speak of Eva,' he at length said, in a voice of choking agitation.

'She is well, she is safe. Yes, I have saved her,' said Fakredeen, burying his face in the pillow, exhausted by emotion. 'Yes, I have not lived in vain.' 'Your flag shall wave on a thousand castles,' said Besso. 'My child is saved, and she is saved by the brother of her heart. Entirely has the God of our fathers guarded over us. Henceforth, my Fakredeen, you have only to wish: we are the same.' And Besso sank down almost insensible; then he made a vain effort to rise again, murmuring 'Eva!'

'She will soon be here,' said Fakredeen; 'she only rests awhile after many hardships.'

'Will the noble Emir refresh himself after his long journey?' said Hillel.

'My heart is too elate for the body to need relief,' said the Emir.

'That may be very true,' said Hillel. 'At the same time, for my part, I have always thought that the body should be maintained as well as the spirit.' 'Withdraw from the side of the couch,' said Issachar, the son of Selim, to his companions. 'My lord and friend has swooned.'

Gradually the tide of life returned to Besso, gradually the heart beat, the hand grew warm. At length he slowly opened his eyes, and said, 'I have been dreaming of my child, even now I see her.'

Yes, so vivid had been the vision that even now, restored entirely to himself, perfectly conscious of the locality and the circumstances that surrounded him, knowing full well that he was in his brother's house at Aleppo, suffering and disabled, keenly recalling his recent interview with Fakredeen, notwithstanding all these tests of inward and outward perception, still before his entranced and agitated vision hovered the lovely visage of his daughter, a little paler than usual, and an uncommon anxiety blended with its soft expression, but the same rich eyes and fine contour of countenance that her father had so often gazed on with pride, and recalled in her absence with brooding fondness. 'Even now I see her,' said Besso.

He could say no more, for the sweetest form in the world had locked him in her arms.

''Tis the letter of the third Cabala,' said Issachar, the son of Selim.



CHAPTER LIX.

Tancred Returns to Jerusalem

TANCRED had profited by his surprise by the children of Rechab in the passes of the Stony Arabia, and had employed the same tactics against the Turkish force. By a simulated defence on the borders, and by the careful dissemination of false intelligence, he had allowed the Pasha and his troops to penetrate the mountains, and principally by a pass which the Turks were assured by their spies that the Ansarey had altogether neglected. The success of these manoeuvres had been as complete as the discomfiture and rout of the Turks. Tancred, at the head of the cavalry, had pursued them into the plain, though he had halted, for an instant, before he quitted the mountains, to send a courier to Astarte from himself with the assurance of victory, and the horsetails of the Pasha for a trophy.

It so happened, however, that, while Tancred, with very few attendants, was scouring the plain, and driving before him a panic-struck multitude, who, if they could only have paused and rallied, might in a moment have overwhelmed him, a strong body of Turkish cavalry, who had entered the mountains by a different pass from that in which the principal engagement had taken place, but who, learning the surprise and defeat of the main body, had thought it wise to retreat in order and watch events, debouched at this moment from the high country into the plain and in the rear of Tancred. Had they been immediately recognised by the fugitives, it would have been impossible for Tancred to escape; but the only impression of the routed Turks was, that a reinforcement had joined their foe, and their disorder was even increased by the appearance in the distance of their own friends. This misapprehension must, however, in time, have been at least partially removed; but Baroni, whose quick glance had instantly detected the perilous incident, warned Tancred immediately.

'We are surrounded, my lord; there is only one course to pursue. To regain the mountains is impossible; if we advance, we enter only a hostile country, and must be soon overpowered. We must make for the Eastern desert.'

Tancred halted and surveyed the scene: he had with him not twenty men. The Turkish cavalry, several hundreds strong, had discovered their quarry, and were evidently resolved to cut off their retreat.

'Very well,' said Tancred, 'we are well mounted, we must try the mettle of our steeds. Farewell, Gindarica! Farewell, gods of Olympus! To the desert, which I ought never to have quitted!' and, so speaking, he and his band dashed towards the East.

Their start was, so considerable that they baffled their pursuers, who, however, did not easily relinquish their intended prey. Some shots in the distance, towards nightfall, announced that the enemy had given up the chase. After three hours of the moon, Tancred and his companions rested at a well not far from a village, where they obtained some supplies. An hour before dawn, they again pursued their way over a rich flat country, uninclosed, yet partially cultivated, with, every now and then, a village nestling in a jungle of Indian fig.

It was the commencement of December, and the country was very parched; but the short though violent season of rain was at hand: this renovates in the course of a week the whole face of Nature, and pours into little more than that brief space the supplies which in other regions are distributed throughout the year. On the third day, before sunset, the country having gradually become desolate and deserted, consisting of vast plains covered with herds, with occasionally some wandering Turkmans or Kurds, Tancred and his companions came within sight of a broad and palmy river, a branch of the Euphrates.

The country round, far as the eye could range, was a kind of downs covered with a scanty herbage, now brown with heat and age. When Tancred had gained an undulating height, and was capable of taking a more extensive survey of the land, it presented, especially towards the south, the same features through an illimitable space.

'The Syrian desert!' said Baroni; 'a fortnight later, and we shall see this land covered with flowers and fragrant with aromatic herbs.'

'My heart responds to it,' said Tancred. 'What is Damascus, with all its sumptuousness, to this sweet liberty?'

Quitting the banks of the river, they directed their course to the south, and struck as it were into the heart of the desert; yet, on the morrow, the winding waters again met them. And now there opened on their sight a wondrous scene: as far as the eye could reach innumerable tents; strings of many hundred camels going to, or returning from, the waters; groups of horses picketed about; processions of women with vases on their heads visiting the palmy banks; swarms of children and dogs; spreading flocks; and occasionally an armed horseman bounding about the environs of the vast encampment.

Although scarcely a man was visible when Tancred first caught a glimpse of this Arabian settlement, a band of horsemen suddenly sprang from behind a rising ground and came galloping up to them to reconnoitre and to inquire.

'We are brothers,' said Baroni, 'for who should be the master of so many camels but the lord of the Syrian pastures?'

'There is but one God,' said the Bedouin, 'and none are lords of the Syrian pastures but the children of Rechab.'

'Truly, there is only one God,' said Baroni; 'go tell the great Sheikh that his friend the English prince has come here to give him a salaam of peace.'

Away bounded back the Bedouins, and were soon lost in the crowded distance.

'All is right,' said Baroni; 'we shall sup to-night under the pavilion of Amalek.'

'I visit him then, at length, in his beautiful pastures,' said Tancred; 'but, alas! I visit him alone.'

They had pulled up their horses, and were proceeding leisurely towards the encampment, when they observed a cavalcade emerging from the outer boundary of the settlement. This was Amalek himself, on one of his steeds of race, accompanied by several of his leading Sheikhs, coming to welcome Tancred to his pavilion in the Syrian pastures. A joyful satisfaction sparkled in the bright eyes of the old chieftain, as, at a little distance, he waved his hand with graceful dignity, and then pressed it to his heart.

'A thousand salaams,' he exclaimed, when he had reached Tancred; 'there is but one God. I press you to my heart of hearts. There are also other friends, but they are not here.'

'Salaam, great Sheikh! I feel indeed we are brothers. There are friends of whom we must speak, and indeed of many things.'

Thus conversing and riding side by side, Amalek and Tancred entered the camp. Nearly five thousand persons were collected together in this wilderness, and two thousand warriors were prepared at a moment's notice to raise their lances in the air. There were nearly as many horses, and ten times as many camels. This wilderness was the principal and favourite resting-place of the great Sheikh of the children of Rechab, and the abundant waters and comparatively rich pasturage permitted him to gather around him a great portion of his tribe.

The lamps soon gleamed, and the fires soon blazed; sheep were killed, bread baked, coffee pounded, and the pipe of honour was placed in the hands of Tancred. For an Arabian revel, the banquet was long and rather elaborate. By degrees, however, the guests stole away; the women ceased to peep through the curtains; and the children left off asking Baroni to give them backsheesh. At length, Amalek and Tancred being left alone, the great Sheikh, who had hitherto evinced no curiosity as to the cause of the presence of his guest, said, 'There is a time for all things, for eating and for drinking, also for prayers. There is, also, a season to ask questions. Why is the brother of the Queen of the English in the Syrian desert?'

'There is much to tell, and much to inquire,' said Tancred; 'but before I speak of myself, let me know whether you can get me tidings of Eva, the daughter of Besso.'

'Is she not living in rooms with many divans?' said Amalek.

'Alas!' said Tancred, 'she was a prisoner, and is now a fugitive.'

'What children of Gin have done this deed? Are there strange camels drinking at my wells? Is it some accursed Kurd that has stolen her sheep; or some Turkman, blacker than night, that has hankered after her bracelets?'

'Nothing of all this, yet more than all this. All shall be told to you, great Sheikh, yet before I speak, tell me again, can you get me tidings of Eva, the daughter of Besso?'

'Can I fire an arrow that will hit its mark?' said Amalek; 'tell me the city of Syria where Eva the daughter of Besso may be found, and I will send her a messenger that would reach her even in the bath, were she there.'

Tancred then gave the great Sheikh a rapid sketch of what had occurred to Eva, and expressed his fear that she might have been intercepted by the Turkish troops. Amalek decided that she must be at Aleppo, and, instantly summoning one of his principal men, he gave instructions for the departure of a trusty scout in that direction.

'Ere the tenth day shall have elapsed,' said the great Sheikh, 'we shall have sure tidings. And now let me know, prince of England, by what strange cause you could have found yourself in the regions of those children of hell, the Ansarey, who, it is well known, worship Eblis in every obscene form.'

'It is a long tale,' said Tancred, 'but I suppose it must be told; but now that you have relieved my mind by sending to Aleppo, I can hardly forget that I have ridden for more than three days, and with little pause. I am not, alas! a true Arab, though I love Arabia and Arabian thoughts; and, indeed, my dear friend, had we not met again, it is impossible to say what might have been my lot, for I now feel that I could not have much longer undergone the sleepless toil I have of late encountered. If Eva be safe, I am content, or would wish to feel so; but what is content, and what is life, and what is man? Indeed, great Sheikh, the longer I live and the more I think——' and here the chibouque dropped gently from Tancred's mouth, and he himself sunk upon the carpet.



CHAPTER LX.

The Road to Bethany

BESSO is better,' said the Consul Pasqualigo to Barizy of the Tower, as he met him on a December morning in the Via Dolorosa.

'Yes, but he is by no means well,' quickly rejoined Barizy. 'The physician of the English prince told me——'

'He has not seen the physician of the English prince!' screamed Pasqualigo, triumphantly.

'I know that,' said Barizy, rallying; 'but the physician of the English prince says for flesh-wounds——'

'There are no flesh-wounds,' said the Consul Pasqualigo. 'They have all healed; 'tis an internal shock.'

'For internal shocks,' said Barizy of the Tower, 'there is nothing like rosemary stewed with salt, and so keep on till it simmers.'

'That is very well for a bruise,' said the Consul Pasqualigo.

'A bruise is a shock,' said Barizy of the Tower.

'Besso should have remained at Aleppo,' said the Consul.

'Besso always comes to Jerusalem when he is indisposed,' said Barizy; 'as he well says, 'tis the only air that can cure him; and, if he cannot be cured, why, at least, he can be buried in the Valley of Je-hoshaphat.'

'He is not at Jerusalem,' said the Consul Pasqualigo, maliciously.

'How do you mean?' said Barizy, somewhat confused. 'I am now going to inquire after him, and smoke some of his Latakia.'

'He is at Bethany,' said the Consul.

'Hem!' said Barizy, mysteriously. 'Bethany! Will that marriage come off now, think you? I always fancy, when, eh?——'

'She will not marry till her father has recovered,' said the Consul.

'This is a curious story,' said Barizy. 'The regular troops beaten by the Kurds.'

'They were not Kurds,' said the Consul Pasqualigo. 'They were Russians in disguise. Some cannon have been taken, which were cast at St. Petersburg; and, besides, there is a portfolio of state papers found on a Cossack, habited as a Turkman, which betrays all. The documents are to be published in numbers, with explanatory commentaries. Consul-General Laurella writes from Damascus that the Eastern question is more alive than ever. We are on the eve of great events.'

'You don't say so?' said Barizy of the Tower, losing his presence of mind from this overwhelming superiority of information. 'I always thought so. Palmerston will never rest till he gets Jerusalem.'

'The English must have markets,' said the Consul Pasqualigo.

'Very just,' said Barizy of the Tower. 'There will be a great opening here. I think of doing a little myself in cottons; but the house of Besso will monopolise everything.'

'I don't think the English can do much here,' said the Consul, shaking his head. 'What have we to give them in exchange? The people here had better look to Austria, if they wish to thrive. The Austrians also have cottons, and they are Christians. They will give you their cottons, and take your crucifixes.'

'I don't think I can deal in crucifixes,' said Barizy of the Tower.

'I tell you what, if you won't, your cousin Barizy of the Gate will. I know he has given a great order to Bethlehem.'

'The traitor!' exclaimed Barizy of the Tower. 'Well, if people will purchase crucifixes and nothing else, they must be supplied. Commerce civilises man.'

'Who is this?' exclaimed the Consul Pasqualigo.

A couple of horsemen, well mounted, but travel-worn, and followed by a guard of Bedouins, were coming up the Via Dolorosa, and stopped at the house of Hassan Nejid.

''Tis the English prince,' said Barizy of the Tower. 'He has been absent six months; he has been in Egypt.'

'To see the temples of the fire-worshippers, and to shoot crocodiles. They all do that,' said the Consul Pasqualigo.

'How glad he must be to get back to Jerusalem,' said Barizy of the Tower. 'There may be larger cities, but there are certainly none so beautiful.'

'The most beautiful city in the world is the city of Venice,' said Pasqualigo.

'You have never been there,' said Barizy.

'But it was built principally by my ancestors,' said the Consul, 'and I have a print of it in my hall.'

'I never heard that Venice was comparable to Jerusalem,' said Barizy.

'Jerusalem is, in every respect, an abode fit for swine, compared with Venice,' said Pasqualigo.

'I would have you to know, Monsieur Pasqualigo, who call yourself consul, that the city of Jerusalem is not only the city of God, but has ever been the delight and pride of man.'

'Pish!' said Pasqualigo.

'Poh!' said Barizy.

'I am not at all surprised that Besso got out of it as soon as he possibly could.'

'You would not dare to say these things in his presence,' said Barizy.

'Who says "dare" to the representative of a European Power!'

'I say "dare" to the son of the janissary of the Austrian Vice-Consul at Sidon.'

'You will hear more of this,' said Pasqualigo, fiercely. 'I shall make a representation to the Inter-nonce at Stamboul.'

'You had better go there yourself, as you are tired of El Khuds.'

Pasqualigo, not having a repartee ready, shot at his habitual comrade a glance of withering contempt, and stalked away.

In the meantime, Tancred dismounted and entered for the first time his house at Jerusalem, of which he had been the nominal tenant for half a year. Baroni was quite at home, as he knew the house in old days, and had also several times visited, on this latter occasion, the suite of Tancred. Freeman and True-man, who had been forwarded on by the British Consul at Beiroot, like bales of goods, were at their post, bowing as if their master had just returned from a club. But none of the important members of the body were at this moment at hand. Colonel Brace was dining with the English Consul on an experimental plum-pudding, preliminary to the authentic compound, which was to appear in a few days. It was supposed to be the first time that a Christmas pudding had been concocted at Jerusalem, and the excitement in the circle was considerable. The Colonel had undertaken to supervise the preparation, and had been for several days instilling the due instructions into a Syrian cook, who had hitherto only succeeded in producing a result which combined the specific gravity of lead with the general flavour and appearance of a mass of kneaded dates, in a state of fermentation after a lengthy voyage. The Rev. Mr. Bernard was at Bethlehem, assisting the Bishop in catechising some converts who had passed themselves off as true children of Israel, but who were in fact, older Christians than either of their examinants, being descendants of some Nestorian families, who had settled in the south of Palestine in the earlier ages of Christianity. As for Dr. Roby, he was culling simples in the valley of the Jordan; and thus it happened that, when Tancred at length did evince some disposition to settle down quietly under his own roof, and avail himself of the services and society of his friends, not one of them was present to receive and greet him. Tancred roamed about the house, surveyed his court and garden, sighed, while Baroni rewarded and dismissed their escort. 'I know not how it is,' he at length said to his intendant, 'but I never could have supposed that I could have felt so sad and spiritless at Jerusalem.'

'It is the reaction, my lord, after a month's wandering in the desert. It is always so: the world seems tame.'

'I am disappointed that Besso is not here. I am most anxious to see him.'

'Shall I send for the Colonel, my lord?' said Baroni, shaking Tancred's Arabian cloak.

'Well, I think I should let him return naturally,' said Tancred; 'sending for him is a scene; and I do not know why, Baroni, but I feel—I feel unstrung. I am surprised that there are no letters from England; and yet I am rather glad too, for a letter——'

'Received some months after its date,' said Baroni, 'is like the visit of a spectre. I shudder at the sight of it.'

'Heigho!' said Tancred, stretching his arm, and half-speaking to himself, 'I wish the battle of Gindarics had never ceased, but that, like some hero of enchantment, I had gone on for ever fighting.'

'Ah! there is nothing like action,' said Baroni, unscrewing his pistols.

'But what action is there in this world?' said Tancred. 'The most energetic men in Europe are mere busybodies. Empires are now governed like parishes, and a great statesman is only a select vestryman. And they are right: unless we bring man nearer to heaven, unless government become again divine, the insignificance of the human scheme must paralyse all effort.'

'Hem!' said Baroni, kneeling down and opening Tancred's rifle-case. The subject was getting a little too deep for him. 'I perceive,' he said to himself, 'that my lord is very restless. There is something at the bottom of his mind which, perhaps, he does not quite comprehend himself; but it will come out.' Tancred passed the day alone in reading, or walking about his room with an agitated and moody step. Often when his eye rested on the page, his mind wandered from the subject, and he was frequently lost in profound and protracted reverie. The evening drew on; he retired early to his room, and gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. At a later hour, Colonel Brace returned, having succeeded in his principal enterprise, and having also sung the national anthem. He was greatly surprised to hear that Lord Montacute had returned; but Baroni succeeded in postponing the interview until the morrow. An hour after the Colonel, the Rev. Mr. Bernard returned from Bethlehem. He was in great tribulation, as he had been pursued by some of the vagabonds of that ruffianly district; a shot had even been fired after him; but this was only to frighten him. The fact is, the leader of the band was his principal catechumen, who was extremely desirous of appropriating a very splendid copy of the Holy Writings, richly bound, and adorned with massy golden clasps, which the Duchess of Bellamont had presented to the Rev. Mr. Bernard before his departure, and which he always, as a sort of homage to one whom he sincerely respected, displayed on any eminent instance of conversion.