As he concluded, the lattice softly opened; and a female form appeared on the balcony. “Ah, Leila!” said the Moor, “I see thee, and I am blessed!” “Hush!” answered Leila; “speak low, nor tarry long I fear that our interviews are suspected; and this,” she added in a trembling voice, “may perhaps be the last time we shall meet.” “Holy Prophet!” exclaimed Muza, passionately, “what do I hear? Why this mystery? why cannot I learn thine origin, thy rank, thy parents? Think you, beautiful Leila, that Granada holds a rouse lofty enough to disdain the alliance with Muza Ben Abil Gazan? and oh!” he added (sinking the haughty tones of his voice into accents of the softest tenderness), “if not too high to scorn me, what should war against our loves and our bridals? For worn equally on my heart were the flower of thy sweet self, whether the mountain top or the valley gave birth to the odour and the bloom.” “Alas!” answered Leila, weeping, “the mystery thou complainest of is as dark to myself as thee. How often have I told thee that I know nothing of my birth or childish fortunes, save a dim memory of a more distant and burning clime; where, amidst sands and wastes, springs the everlasting cedar, and the camel grazes on stunted herbage withering in the fiery air? Then, it seemed to me that I had a mother: fond eyes looked on me, and soft songs hushed me into sleep.” “Thy mother’s soul has passed into mine,” said the Moor, tenderly. Leila continued:--“Borne hither, I passed from childhood into youth within these walls. Slaves ministered to my slightest wish; and those who have seen both state and poverty, which I have not, tell me that treasures and splendour, that might glad a monarch, are prodigalised around me: but of ties and kindred know I little: my father, a stern and silent man, visits me but rarely--sometimes months pass, and I see him not; but I feel he loves me; and, till I knew thee, Muza, my brightest hours were in listening to the footsteps and flying to the arms of that solitary friend.” “Know you not his name?” “Nor, I nor any one of the household; save perhaps Ximen, the chief of the slaves, an old and withered man, whose very eye chills me into fear and silence.” “Strange!” said the Moor, musingly; “yet why think you our love is discovered, or can be thwarted?” “Hush! Ximen sought me this day: ‘Maiden,’ said he, ‘men’s footsteps have been tracked within the gardens; if your sire know this, you will have looked your last on Granada. Learn,’ he added, in a softer voice, as he saw me tremble, ‘that permission were easier given to thee to wed the wild tiger than to mate with the loftiest noble of Morisca! Beware!’ He spoke, and left me. O Muza!” she continued, passionately wringing her hands, “my heart sinks within me, and omen and doom rise dark before my sight!” “By my father’s head, these obstacles but fire my love, and I would scale to thy possession, though every step in the ladder were the corpses of a hundred foes!”