"In the town Almeria!" echoed Amador, eagerly. "Thou canst tell me nothing of Almeria that will not give me both pain and pleasure, for therein--But pho! a word doth fill the brain with memories!--Is it an ancient story?" "Not very ancient, please my lord: it happened since the fall of Granada." "It is strange that I never heard it, then; for I dwelt full two months in this same town; and 'tis not yet forty years since the siege." "Perhaps it is not _true_," said the stripling, innocently; "and, at the best, 'tis not remarkable enough to have many repeaters. 'Tis a very foolish story." "Nevertheless, I am impatient to hear it." "There lived in that town," said Jacinto, "a Moorish orphan--" "A girl?" demanded the neophyte. "A Moorish maiden,--of so obscure a birth, that she knew not even the name that had been borne by her parents; but nevertheless, senor, her parents, as was afterwards found out, were of the noblest blood of Granada. She was protected and reared in the family of a benevolent lady, who, being descended of a Moorish parent, looked with pity on the poor orphan of the race of her mother. When this maiden was yet in her very early youth, there came a noble cavalier of Castile--" "A Castilian!" demanded Don Amador, with extraordinary vivacity,--"Art thou a conjurer?--What was his name?" "I know not," said Jacinto. "Thou learnest thy stories, then, only by the half," said the neophyte, with a degree of displeasure that amazed the youth. "And, doubtless, thou wert forgetful also to acquire the name of the Moorish orphan?" "Senor," said the page, discomposed at the heated manner of his patron, "the Moorish maiden was called Leila." "Leila!" cried the neophyte, starting to his feet, and seizing Jacinto by the arm--"Canst thou tell me aught of Leila?" "Senor!" murmured Jacinto, in affright. "Leila, the Morisca, in the house of the senora Dona Maria de Montefuerte!" exclaimed Don Amador, wildly. "Dost thou know of her fate? Did she sleep under the surges of the bay? Was she ravished away by those exile dogs of the mountains?--Now, by heaven, if thou canst tell me any thing of that Moorish maid, I will make thee richer than the richest Moor of Granada!" At this moment, while Jacinto, speechless with terror, gazed on his patron, as doubting if his senses had not deserted him, a step rung on the earth of the terrace, and De Morla stood at his side. The voice of his friend recalled the bewildered wits of the neophyte; he stared at Jacinto, and at De Morla; a deep hue of shame and confusion flushed over his brow; and perceiving that his violence had again thrown the page into tears, he kissed him benevolently on the forehead, and said, as tranquilly as he could,-- "A word will make fools of the wisest! I think I was dreaming, while thou wert at thy story. Be not affrighted, Jacinto: I meant not to scold thee--I was disturbed.--Next--next," he added, with a grievous shudder, "I shall be as mad as my kinsman!"