“Her eyes were as brilliant stars, and they blinded my very soul,” exclaimed Ibrahim impetuously; “the honey of her words dropped like balm into my heart!  As the sound of bubbling fountains, and the rustle of flowery groves to the parched wanderer in the desert, fell her sweet voice upon my ear.  So gentle and musical were its tones, that I thought not of their meaning, and it is only to-day that I understand them.”

“I know not,” quoth Hassan, “what you may have seen; but doubtless, Satan, who wished to inspire you with an unholy desire for a Nazarene woman, began by blinding you.  According to all I have heard, the Uzcoque maiden is good and compassionate, but as ugly as night.”

“Ugly!” cried Ibrahim, “Then there must be two of them; for the one I saw was blooming as the spring, her eyes like the morning star, and her cheeks of velvet.  Oh, that I could again behold her!  In that hope it was that I pressed so rashly forward in the fight, and was made prisoner; but yet have I not beheld the pearl of mine eyes.”

“She cannot be amongst them,” said Hassan; “and thence comes it that the pirates have this year committed greater cruelties than ever, and done deeds that cry out to Allah for vengeance.”

“Instead of her silver tones,” continued Ibrahim, “I hear the shrieks of the tortured; instead of her words of peace and blessing, the curses of the murderer.”

“But what did the maiden tell you?” enquired Hassan, who was getting impatient at the transports of the enamoured youth.

“Her words flowed like a clear stream out of the well of truth.  It is not the Uzcoques alone,” said she, “who are to blame for the horrors that”—­

“Hark!” interrupted the old Turk.

A clamour of voices and splashing of oars became audible, a keel grated on the beach, and then hurried footsteps were heard in the ravine.

“It is another vessel with Uzcoques!” exclaimed Ibrahim; “but these are not laden with plunder, their movements are too rapid.”

As he spoke, the tumult and murmur of voices and trampling of feet increased, and above all a noise like distant musketry was heard.

“Holy Virgin!” suddenly exclaimed a clear and feminine voice, apparently close to the mouth of the cavern.  “They are already at the castle—­the gates, no doubt, are shut, the drawbridge raised.  Before they could come down it would be too late.”

The young Turk started.

“It is she, Hassan!” he exclaimed.  “It is Strasolda, the Christian maiden!”

“Oh, my father!” cried the same voice in tones of heart-rending anguish.  “How shall we deliver thee?  Alas! alas! who can tell the tortures they will make thee suffer in their dreadful dungeons?”

The noise of the musketry became more and more distinct.  Some of the newly arrived Uzcoques who had hurried up the winding path, were soon heard clamouring furiously for admittance at the castle gates.