Still holding Lianor, now weeping quietly, in his arms, Luiz led the way towards the road, where the palanquin stood, and placing the girl gently in, raised her white hands passionately to his lips.
"Lianor, Lianor, my own darling!" he murmured, gazing into her pallid face with lovelit eyes. "If I had been too late, and found you gone!"
Lianor smiled tremulously through her tears, and a blush mantled to her cheeks.
"You have saved my life. I can never repay you," earnestly.
Panteleone, still pale and anxious, now appeared leading the little widow, who seemed overjoyed at her release. She sank down gladly beside Lianor, and then the palanquin was borne away, guarded by Luiz and Panteleone, Satzavan walking behind.
Don Garcia's delight knew no bounds when he saw the procession entering the palace gates, and he ran eagerly to receive his daughter.
"My loved child! How unwise I was to let you go, to send you into danger," he cried, carrying her in his arms from the palanquin to the marble hall. "If it had not been for our young friend, Falcam, I should never have seen you again."
"But, papa, think! If we had not gone, this poor girl would have been burnt to death," Lianor said, shudderingly, drawing Savitre towards her.
"Ah, yes. Poor child!" stroking the young widow's glossy black hair. "Now tell me all about it." "Not yet, papa. Let us go and arrange our dresses; mine is torn completely to pieces," laughingly holding up a fragment of cashmere, which in the struggle had become torn.
Holding Savitre's hand in hers, Lianor went swiftly to her rooms, where they could bathe their weary limbs in cool water, and change their tattered robes.