"And have thine eyes been as dark as the looks of the lover?" cried Alharef. "Stand up, Zayda, the child of Zayda! or turn thy face upon Calavar, that his delusion may leave him."
As he spoke, he lifted feebly the arm which embraced his child, removed the cap, and parted the thick clustering locks from her forehead. Still, however, did she look rather the effeminate boy, upon whom Calavar had been accustomed to gaze, than a woman;—for there is no effort of imagination stronger than that required to transform, in the mind, the object which preserves an unchanging appearance to the eye. Nevertheless, though such a transformation could not be imagined by Don Gabriel, there came, as he wistfully surveyed the pallid features of the maiden, strange visions and memories, which, every moment, associated a stronger resemblance between the living and the dead. He trembled still more violently, heavy dew-drops started from his brow, and he gazed upon the weeping girl as upon a basilisk.
"Wherefore," continued the Zegri, speaking rapidly, but with broken accents,—"when I had resolved to fly to the pagans, as being men whom, I thought, God had commissioned me to defend from rapine and slavery. I resolved to take such advantage of their credulity, as might best enable me to befriend them,—I say, wherefore I resolved this, I need not speak. I protected my child, by recommending her to their superstition; and, had I fallen dead in the streets, still did I know, that reverence and fear would wait upon the steps of one whom I delivered to them as a messenger from heaven. In this light, I revealed her to the princes at the temple, when——"
"It is enough!" muttered Don Gabriel, with the deep and agitated tones of sorrow; "I wake from a dream.—God forgive me! and thou art of the blood of Zayda? the child of her whom I slew?—Alharef forgives me; he says, that Zayda forgives me; but thou that art her child, dost thou forgive me?"
"Father! dear father, she doth!" cried Amador, gazing with awe on the altered countenance of Alharef, and listening with grief to the moans of Zayda. "O holy padre!" he exclaimed, perceiving the priest Olmedo rising, at a little distance, from the side of a man, to whom he had been offering the last consolations of religion,—"Hither, father, for the love of heaven, and absolve the soul of a dying Christian!"
"Is there a priest at my side?" said the Zegri, reviving from what seemed the lethargy of approaching dissolution, and looking eagerly into the face of the good Olmedo. Then, turning to Amador, he said solemnly, though with broken words, "Thou lovest the orphan Zayda?"
"Heaven be my help, as I do," replied the cavalier.
"And thou, Gabriel, that wert my friend, and standest in the light of this young man's parent,—dost thou consent that he shall espouse the daughter of Zayda, saved, while a piteous infant, by Christian men, from out the house of death?"
The knight bowed his head on his breast, and strove to answer, but, in his agitation, could not speak a word.
"Quick, father! for heaven's sake, quick!" cried Alharef, eagerly; "let me, ere I die, know that my child rests on the bosom of a husband. Quick! for the sand runs fast; and there is that in my bosom, which tells me of death. Love and honour thy bride; for thou hast the last and noblest relic of Granada. Take her—thou wert her protector from harsh words and the violence of blows. Quick, father, quick! quick, for mine eyes are glazing!"