The slaves were instantly formed in line to pass leathern buckets from hand to hand, filled with water from the fountain.  Even at this extremity two guards with drawn scimitars walked to and fro in front of the row, each looking and walking in the contrary direction to the other, changing their direction at the same moment as they went and returned, so that no slave was for a moment out of sight of the watchmen with the keen bright weapons.  And every man knew, instinctively, that the least movement which looked suspicious might bring the flashing blade on his devoted neck, bearing away the trunkless head like a plaything.

Still, Hubert could use his eyes, and he gazed around.  In the centre of the brilliantly-lighted court was a small circular erection of stone, like an inverted tub, with iron gratings around it.  The flat surface, the disc we may call it, was half composed of iron bars like a grate, supported by the stonework, and in the centre ran an iron post with rings stout and strong, from which an iron girdle, unclasped, depended.

What could it be meant for?

“Ah, I see, it is the stake put in order for me tomorrow.”

He looked at the courtyard.  There were seats tier upon tier on either side, with awnings over them.  In front there was a low wall, and the ground appeared to fall somewhat precipitously away from it.  Beyond the moonlight disclosed a glorious view of mountains and hills, valleys and depths.

All this he saw, and his mind was made up either to escape or die on the spot by the flashing scimitar, far easier to bear than the fiery death designed for him on the morrow.

And while he thought, a loud cry drew all eyes elsewhere.  At a window, right above the flaming hall, appeared the agonised faces of some of the hopeful pupils of the “Old Man,” forgotten and left, when the rest were aroused:  and so far as human wit could judge, the same death awaited them which they were to have gazed upon with pitiless eyes, as inflicted upon a helpless slave, on the morrow.  They had probably been looking forward to the occasion, as a Spaniard to his auto da fe, as an interesting spectacle.

Oh, how different the feelings of the spectators and the victims on such occasions; when humanity sinks to its lowest depths, and cruelty becomes a delight.  God preserve us from such possibilities, which make us ashamed of our nature, whether exhibited in the Mussulman, the Spaniard, or the Red Indian.  But we must not moralise here.

All eyes were drawn to the spot.  The “Old Man” himself, now first heard, cried for ladders:  it was too late, the building was tottering; it bent inward, an awful crash, and—­

At that moment the eyes of both guards were averted, drawn to the terrible spectacle; and Hubert sprang upon the nearest from behind.  In a moment he had mastered the scimitar, and the next moment a head, not Hubert’s, rolled on the blood-stained pavement.  He lingered not an instant, but with the rush of a wild beast flew on the other sentinel, a moment’s clashing of blades, the skill of the knight prevailed, and the Moslem was cleft to the chin.