“Let me deal with her, my lord,” he said. “The heart of the Emir is too tender. I will find the boy. Soldiers, search the vaults of the castle.” No trace upon the countenance of Frandina betrayed alarm. She herself led the way to the different subterranean chambers within the citadel. When the searchers and the grim old Fakir, hideous and naked, save for a ragged cloth about his loins, but esteemed all the more holy from his filth, descended the winding stairs leading to the chapel, Frandina did not falter. In her presence every corner was ransacked by the aid of torches. Nothing was found. But as all were leaving, and she stood already under the arch of the door, to see them all file safely by, some gleam of relief, some [Illustration: THE INTERIOR OF SAN ISIDORA, WITH TOMBS OF KINGS.] unconscious look of joy passed over her face. It was noted by the horrible Fakir. “She rejoices,” was his thought. “We are leaving the boy behind. Let further search be made,” he commands, turning back the soldiers, whose feet were already on the stairs. “The boy is with the dead,” Frandina had said. Now the words came back to him with a special meaning, for the walls were lined with tombs which stood out conspicuous in the vivid glare of the torches, striking on the marble panels. On one was the escutcheon of an ancient knight, surmounted by a coronet; there a sculptured figure in armour lay at rest; further on a deeply indented effigy in coloured stone, upon which an inscription set forth the valour of the mouldering bones within. The tomb of Florinda, white and glistening by the side of the others, displayed her effigy in polished marble, a delicately chiselled form--this at once attracted the attention of the Fakir. “Who lies there?” he asked, turning his twinkling eyes, overshadowed by hairy eyebrows, on the shrinking figure of Frandina, who, trembling from head to foot, sought to hide her face in the deep shadow of a pillared vault, beside the gate of entrance; “this tomb seems the newest.” “It is my daughter’s tomb,” replied Frandina; but with all her fortitude, she was conscious of a trembling in her voice, and her dry lips could scarcely articulate the words, “She is but lately dead.” The Fakir eyed her with a devilish glance. Then, turning to the Moorish soldier, whose eyes rolled under the high turban with a wicked satisfaction at the discomfiting of the Christian,-- “Search within,” he orders, his gaze bent on her. Alas! it was soon done. The entrance of the recently entered monument was partly open; within lay what death had spared of Florinda, the bier covered with a fine cloth of Eastern tissue, the hands covered with precious stones. At first, the Nubian guard, staggered at the strange sight, fall back, but soon recalled by the stern voice of the Fakir, they lifted the pall. The boy lay underneath! He was asleep, his soft cheek turned upwards, cradled on his arm.