But Myrrah heard all the youth’s protestations with an uninterested ear. There was no love in her heart for the descendant of a race which ever delighted in oppressing the descendants of Abraham. And for Orien, the Moor, her heart had no predilection. He was a handsome youth, to be sure, and the son of a man who stood high among his people; and it was a mystery to himself, how _he_ should love so passionately the daughter of the Jew. And it seemed no less strange and unnatural to the young girl, when she remembered the great and never-disguised contempt and aversion with which her people were regarded by the followers of Mahomet. Orien could boast of but little acquaintance with Myrrah; his love had not been aroused by her virtues, or a knowledge of her surpassing excellence of heart and disposition; her exceeding beauty was the great attraction, which he could not withstand. Many times chance had thrown the girl for a moment in his way, and the Moor had never failed to take the advantage of such moments to whisper words of ardent love, to which any reply was very seldom deigned. This silence and affectation of scorn, as he thought it, but increased the passion of the lover—his nature delighted in overcoming obstacles, and his determination was only strengthened by the cold reserve and dignity of Myrrah. One night, as she was passing along the street in that quiet quarter of the city where her people lived, Orien, who had wandered there in the hope of catching but a glimpse of her face or person, appeared suddenly by her side. “I have something to say to thee,” he exclaimed, abruptly; “thou knowest my name.” “Yes, thou art son of the great Mazarin Fez—what dost _thou_ here to-night?” “To tell thee this. For a twelvemonth thou hast been more than sunlight to me. I have lived in shade and gloom, only when thou chanced to be near me. Listen now; I pray thee haste not so quickly. I am willing, ready, even this very night, if thou will it, to renounce my people, my station, my God, for thee! The shame and dishonor that is heaped upon the Jew, I am ready, glad to take upon myself if thou—” “Nay, stop,” said Myrrah, indignantly pausing, and looking her suitor in the face, “there is _no_ stain upon my people for thee to take upon thyself. The shame and the dishonor which crushes them belong to _thy_ people who impose it. There is no love in the hearts of the daughters of Judah for the oppressors of their fathers.” “Forgive me,” was the humble answer, “teach me words that I may plead my love without offending thee; be mine, Myrrah, and we will hasten to seek out a home where the cruel injustice of my fathers cannot visit yours. Be _my wife_, I will prove thy willing, humble slave forever!” “Thou art speaking madly, Orien Fez. I tell thee I have fear of thee! Are thy people wont to become the slaves of mine? I love thee not.”