And did Ayesha, from beneath the screen of girlish levity, while seemingly steeped to the lips in the rapturous enjoyment of the liberty, the life of the present moment, did Ayesha see and foresee all this? At least, when Hadj Abdallah Ibn Ali wrote to his friend and patron the Sultan, and that but shortly after their arrival, that Boabdil was so evidently and obviously enamored of his mother’s lovely guest, that he would not only too eagerly court the alliance, backed as it was by advantages so kingly, but that he verily believed he would woo her to his throne, were she the merest peasant’s child. He wrote nothing of Ayesha! Again he wrote that he could not doubt she had perceived her royal cousin’s love, and that her manner toward him was so frank, so free, so unrestrainedly joyous and confiding, that he was well assured that all went well, and that she returned the affection of Boabdil, and rejoiced in his love. But Muley Abderrahman, shook his head and knit his brow, as he read the letter, and muttered through his thick moustache, “Ay! he is a good man—a good man is the Hadj Abdallah, and a wise one, but he knows nothing of a woman’s heart—how should he?” When he sent the next dispatches to his old friend and counsellor, there was a brief private note attached. “Is the Leila Ayesha,” he asked, “never grave, never abstracted, never shy, and almost sad—does she never flee from the gayety of the festival, the tumult of the chase, into privacy and solitude—does she never fail to hear when addressed, to see when encountered—does she never weep nor sigh when alone—in a word, is she in nowise changed from what she was at Mequiñez?” And the reply came, “Never. Wherefore should she? Is she not the apple of all eyes, the idol of all hearts? Her laugh is as the music of the soul, her eye-glance the sunbeam that enkindles every heart. She is the star of the Alhambra, the loadstone of the king’s soul. Wherefore should she weep or sigh? I have questioned her handmaids—never! Yes—the Leila Ayesha is changed. In Mequiñez, she was as a sunbeam thrown on still waters. Here in Granada, she is the sunbeam thrown on the dancing fountain, reflecting happy light on all around her. In Mequiñez, she was as a sweet song-bird, feeding her soul on her own harmonies in silence. Here in Granada she is as the sweet song-bird, enrapturing all within her sphere by the blithe outpourings of her joyous melodies. Yes—the Leila Ayesha is changed. My Lord Boabdil loves the Leila Ayesha; the Leila Ayesha knows it, and is glad.” Then Muley Abderrahman shook his head, and pondered for a while, and muttered— “She loves him not—She loves him not. The Hadj Abdallah is good and wise with the wisdom of men—but of the hearts of women, he knows nothing—how should he? for he never saw a woman.”