“I come,” said Teodomir, in a tone of lofty courtesy, raising his iron vizor, and showing the stern face of a warrior, the young page behind him, proud of the particoloured dress, and swaying the flag of truce in cadence to his words, “I come as a Gothic knight into your presence, most magnanimous son of Mousa, whom men call ‘the merciful,’ to treat of the surrender of the castle. As you see, our walls are fully manned, and we have food for a lengthened siege. But much blood has flowed. I have lost my sons, and fain would spare the lives of my people. Promise that we may pass unmolested, and when the rising sun tips the circle of mountains towards the east, we will surrender. Otherwise, we will fight until none are left.” Abdul-asis, young in craft and unsuspecting, as became the poetic quality of his soul, was greatly struck with the bold words of the veteran, who stood his ground so valiantly alone against an army. The castle, too, was strong, and appeared amply defended. Generosity in this case was policy. He consented gladly, standing forth alone, a crimson caftan thrown over his armour, the folds of his turban shading his massive Egyptian features and his lustrous eyes. To the articles of capitulation, he hastened to affix his seal. Then he addressed Teodomir: “Tell me, bold Christian,” said he, “you who have ventured alone into the Moorish camp, now that we are friends, of what force is the garrison of Orihuela?” A grim smile spread over the face of the veteran. “Wait and see,” was his answer. “With the morning light we will evacuate the place.” * * * * * As the sun rises in glory behind the eastern mountain tips, and its first rays strike upon the battlements, Teodomir appears, followed by a motley crowd of old women, greybeards, and children tottering down the descent. Abdul-asis waited with wondering eyes until they had reached the plain. “Where,” he said, “O Teodomir, are the valiant soldiers who lined the walls, and have so well maintained the honour of the Goths?” “Soldiers,” answers Teodomir; “by the Lord, I have none. My garrison is before you. These manned the walls. My page”--here he pointed to the stripling disguised in the habit of a herald, the heavy coat dragging after him upon the ground, the helmet falling over his face--“is my herald, guard, and army.” Ere Teodomir had finished speaking, a great uproar arose among the Moors. “Tear him limb from limb,” cry the sheikhs. “Cut the throat of the Christian dog. Let him not live who deceives the Moslems of Islam!” But with a stern gesture Abdul-asis interposed: “Let no man dare to touch the Christian knight,” he orders. “By righteous fraud he has defended his castle. I command that the rights of war are granted him.”