‘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?’