The _azahar_ of a thousand blossoms is in the air, golden oranges hang tempting on the stem, and deeply tinted butterflies course each other among embowered alleys, leading to gaily painted kiosks and pavilions with latticed walls. Whether Abdul-asis exacted the tribute demanded by the Moorish law of a hundred Christian “virgins, fifty rich and fifty poor,” to adorn his harem, I cannot say. He would scarcely have dared openly to omit it. But instead of choosing from among these damsels that pleased his eye, and selling the rest as slaves, he contented himself with selecting one, and dowered such others who were poor, and married them to his Moors. In his harem he also maintained many Christian captives as hostages for the land. But they were treated not only with respect, but with luxury, within the precincts of the lovely little _Patio de las Muñecas_--from all time devoted to the harem--the loveliest sheet of snowy lace-work ever beheld. Not a speck of colour on the pure stone; not a badge or motto, only tiers of open galleries, latticed in white. If ever these dark Eastern beauties return to haunt the glimpses of the moon, it is surely in this _patio_ their dazzling forms will linger! Here they lived a pleasant life, plied their fingers in rich embroidery copied from the looms of Damascus, danced _ole_ or _cachucha_, to castanets, or sang to lute and cither those wild _malagueñas_, with long sad notes. Many were even contented with their lot. But all followed with longing eyes the graceful form of the young Emir, putting forth their charms to attract his roving eyes. “Beware, O my son, of the seductions of love,” had written Mousa to his son. “It is an idle passion which enfeebles the heart and blinds the judgment.” And so his discreet cousin Ayub continually repeated, but, spite of these warnings, Abdul-asis often solaced himself in the company of the fair, specially among the Christian captives, who were both beautiful and well-educated. Indeed, it was here the lonely young Emir spent his happiest hours, as the moon mounted into the realm of blue and star after star shone out to be doubled in the basins of the fountains, the murmur of innumerable jets and streamlets falling on the ear. It was peace, absolute peace, such as comes to those balancing on the bosom of the sea, or on desert plains, or in the mystery of deep forests, or in the grave! * * * * * One night as his eyes range unconsciously into the gloom, he is startled to find that he is not alone. Deep within a thicket of aloes the lines of a woman’s form are visible, seated upon the ground. “Who can this be?” he asks himself with breathless haste. “I cannot recall having seen her before, either in the harem or among the captives.” Yet it was a form, once seen, not to be forgotten. Her dark hair hung like a cloud over her shoulders, and her eyes, as she turned them upwards, catching a ray of moonlight, shone out like stars.