Theodora entreated in vain. Deaf to her piercing cries, Malique mounted her palfrey, and forcibly placed her before him to prevent her falling, as her frame shook convulsively, and he began to fear he would shortly have to support a lifeless burthen.
Night's sable pall had now overspread the drowsy earth. The moon no longer afforded her light, and thick darkness hung over those mournful solitudes. The listless silence was only broken by the tramp of one solitary horse; while the suppressed gaiety of the Moors, and the deep sighs that oft escaped from a sorrowing heart, but too plainly told the tale of violence and distress.
A calm cold tranquillity presided over the place. The screech-owl gave one gloomy shrill and prolonged note, and all was still again. But that sound went thrilling to Theodora's heart, like the death-knell on the mountain blast; while the night wind blew fearfully, and the dismal howling was rehearsed by the echoes of the wilderness.
But deserted and lonely as were those dark recesses, more lonely and deserted still was the heart of Theodora. She was a wretched outcast, a solitary being in the world, and she lived on memory alone. Alas! it is in the hour of distress and perilous adventure, that the voice of memory holds more busy converse with the mind. She then tells a long and varied tale, in which the fortunate portion of our past existence is powerfully heightened, whilst the gloomy part is rendered lighter by the weight of actual endurance. In this hour of terror, the remembrance of the happy home which she should never see again, and the tranquil pastimes of innocence which she could never more enjoy, passed in rapid succession before her mind. The first dawning of genuine love—the fervour of adoration, all were fled. The image of Don Lope, rendered still more endearing by his untimely loss, filled up the measure of Theodora's woe, till her heart could no longer support the pressure of so much distress. She sobbed aloud; and the tears which fell from her eyes in some measure relieved her bursting heart. She looked around, and saw nothing but the undisturbed continuance of wild solitudes, clothed in dark shadows; and she heard nought but mournful sounds to add to the wretchedness of her already deplorable lot. The ill-omened bird again shrieked, and the wind howled fitfully; whilst the moon, issuing from behind a cloud, now threw a cold comfortless light, which imparted a death-like hue to every object around.
While thus overwhelmed with sensations of terror at her forlorn situation, she perceived some object of dark appearance hanging upon a tree almost across their path, and waving to and fro at the will of the blast. A glimpse of moonlight now falling upon the place, discovered a human figure: it was indeed the body of a murdered man. Theodora shuddered at the sight: an icy chill crept over her, and she dreaded, and yet was eager to learn what she, alas! too well anticipated.
"The sight appears to unnerve you, lady," coolly observed her conductor, "and I wonder not, for it is a sorry sight for a tender female, and a Christian withal. Yonder scarecrow was, a short time since, a Christian knight, and is there placed as a warning to his fellow-countrymen how they dare provoke the angry lion in his dominions. In each Moor will the Christian encounter a lion;—nay, something even more terrible than the king of beasts; for, joined with the mighty strength and fierce resolution of this animal, we have the reason and wounded feelings of men."
"By the prophet," said one of the Moors, "that Christian well deserved his fate; a more desperate man never did I see!"
"Aye," continued another, "he fought bravely, and we bought his life at the dear price of two comrades."
"I came not till he was dispatched," exclaimed Malique in a haughty tone, "otherwise the combat would not have been long dubious; but you are a cowardly set, and had the Christian been seconded, I suspect that the five who attacked him would have been disgracefully driven back: but he fought alone, his dastardly servant having fled. Pity we could not catch the rascal, for he would have made a proper accompaniment to his master on the next tree."
Theodora listened in frozen suspense, whilst another of the Moors observed, in an under-tone,—