"A valiant Moor," interrupted Cañeri.
"A vile renegade!" retorted Bermudo with a sneer. "A renegade; for thou canst not gild the bitter potion, nor will I attempt to disguise my character. I am a ruffian; but I have pledged myself to serve the Moors, and I WILL serve them faithfully, actively, to the last breath of my loathed existence."
"Thy services, indeed, have been most valuable," said Cañeri, "and grateful are the Moors for the interest thou evincest in their cause."
"Tush," cried the renegade; "thank me not. It is not my love for the Moors that prompts my services, but my hatred to the Christians. No, Cañeri, I will not admit acknowledgments which I little deserve. You say that I am brave and active—'tis true. I can endure privations, and encounter dangers; but in so doing, I look not to advance the interests of the Moorish cause, but to serve that of my revenge. No, I anticipate no triumphs; I live merely for the gratification of vengeance for wrongs long past, but too deeply rooted in this heart to be ever forgotten." As he pronounced these last words his frame shook with agitation.
"Calm thyself, Alagraf," said Cañeri, "since thou hast adopted that name, and art now——"
"A traitor!" cried the renegade, interrupting him. "I am a traitor to my faith and country. Nay, do not attempt to palliate a name in which I glory. I well know the vile thing that I am considered. My career is a dark one; and the passion which fires my heart, and nerves my arm, cannot ennoble my deeds of valour, but may at least satisfy my craving: and that is enough—I am a villain; but woe to the man who made me what I am. May the curse of despair, may the venom that festers here (and he forcibly smote his breast) poison and corrode the life of him who planted it in a heart kind by nature, and designed for virtue; but by one bad man driven to revolting crime."
"Thy wrongs," interposed Cañeri, "shall be avenged; and our cause, desperate as it seems, may still prosper. 'Tis true, we have lately sustained many reverses; but el Feri de Benastepar yet lives, and even now may check the proud course of our enemies, and blight the verdant laurels of the Christian's brow. Even now, perhaps, Alonso de Aguilar meets the doom to which his hate to the Moorish name so irresistibly impels him. We have resources left,—our forces may be less; our courage greater."
"Hold, Cañeri," cried the renegade; "if thou wilt deceive thyself, deceive not me,—thou canst not. I abhor the Christians, but why should I deny the melancholy truth that is daily forced upon our conviction? The Christians are our superiors, and we have to oppose to them, only the desperate, the frenzied power which springs from a sense of deep injuries sustained,—of wrongs carefully treasured up for the day of retribution."
"Alagraf!" returned Cañeri, somewhat hurt at the boldness and freedom of the renegade, "whatever may be the motives that urge thee to second our enterprise, forget not that mine and those of my companions originate in a cause more noble and dignified—It is to assert our rights as a free and independent nation."
"That," sneeringly muttered Bermudo, "may be the pretext; but I will neither discuss the merits of our undertaking, nor the justice of our cause. To me, at least, they are just and meritorious. I seek by my own exertions that redress which my humble station could not procure, when matched against those to whom chance, not superior worth, gave power over me."