Lagrimas—I thought thou wast a Spanish boy.
Tarik—I thought thou wast my mother. The blood was in my eyes, I could not see. Now, I must throw myself down again.
Lagrimas—Little fool, is not once with death enough?
Tarik—I am Tarik, son of Hafiz the Moor, and Cafour his wife. I will not live to be the slave of a Christian.
Lagrimas—I won't eat thee, dirty infidel! (Shakes Tarik and he all but faints on her hands. She is smitten with remorse and stanches the blood which flows from his head.)
Lagrimas—If thou wouldst not be a slave, why didst thou come back?
Tarik—There are soldiers in the valley.
Lagrimas—There are soldiers here, hundreds of them.
Tarik—(Half sobbing.) I—I wanted my mother.
Lagrimas—(Tenderly.) Little lamb, little lamb.