“I have no thought save that of you.  Come, Light of my Soul, or I shall die.”

“Do you then adore me above all things, earthly and heavenly, that you forsake your vows?  Answer, that my arms may enfold you.”

He groaned like a man upon a rack, and the agony of that cry was proof conclusive of his abject surrender.

Then, through the dead, black silence of the place there came a startling sound.  It was a peal of laughter, loud, evil, triumphant; and, as if it had been a signal, other mocking voices took it up, until the great vault rang to a fiendish din.

“Ho!  Hassam!  Elzemah!  Close the doors!” cried the voice of Abul Malek.  “Bring the lights.”

There followed a ponderous clanging and the rattle of chains, the while Fray Joseph stood reeling in his tracks.  Then suddenly from every side burst forth the radiance of many lamps.  Torches sprang into flame, braziers of resin wood began to smoke, flambeaux were lit, and, half blinded by the glare, the Christian monk stood revealed in the hall of Abul Malek.

He cast his eyes about, but on every side he beheld grinning men of swarthy countenance, and at sight of his terror the hellish merriment broke forth anew, until the whole place thundered with it.  Facing him, upon an ornamental balcony, stood the Moor, and beside him, with elbows on the balustrade and face alight with sinister enjoyment, stood his daughter.

Stunned by his betrayal, Joseph imploringly pronounced her name, at which a fresh guffaw resounded.  Then above the clamor she inquired, with biting malice: 

“Dost thou any longer doubt, oh, Christian, that I adore thee?” At this her father and her brothers rocked back and forth, as if suffocated by the humor of this jest.

The lone man turned, in mind to flee, but every entrance to the hall was closed, and at each portal stood a grinning Saracen.  He bowed his shaven head, and his shame fell slowly upon him.

“You have me trapped,” he said.  “What shall my punishment be?”

“This,” answered the Moorish lord; “to acknowledge once again, before us all, the falseness of your faith.”

“That I have never done; that I can never do,” said Joseph.

“Nay!  But a moment ago you confessed that you adored my daughter above all things, earthly or heavenly.  You forswore your vows for her.  Repeat it, then.”

“I have sinned before God; but I still acknowledge Him and crave His mercy,” said the wretched priest.

“Hark you, Joseph.  You are the best of monks.  Have you ever done evil before this night?”

“My life has been clean, but the flesh is weak.  It was the witchcraft of Satan in that woman’s music.  I prayed for strength, but I was powerless.  My soul shall pay the penalty.”

“What sort of God is this who snares His holiest disciple, with the lusts of the flesh?” mocked Abul Malek.  “Did not your prayers mount up so high?  Or is His power insufficient to forestall the devil?  Bah!  There is but one true God, and Mohammed is His Prophet.  These many years have I labored to rend your veil of holiness asunder and to expose your faith to ridicule and laughter.  This have I done to-night.”