“Listen,” he says again, in a much gentler voice. He understood that excessive fear or a too great repugnance would be fatal, therefore he curbed his passion. “If you will consent to be my sultana, Pelayo [Illustration: THE CHARLEMAGNE OF EPIC. From the painting by Albrecht Dürer.] shall be my second in the kingdom of the Asturias. If not”--and, spite of himself, such a look of ferocity came over his face that Onesinda shrank from him with inexpressible disgust--“the blood of every knight I have taken shall water the earth of Gijon, specially that of Pelayo, who shall expire in unknown torments. Choose, Christian, between life with me, or certain ruin to your race.” As he awaits her answer, Kerim seats himself by her side. With a smile on his dark face he strove to take her hand. In this gentler mood, he seemed to Onesinda a thousand times more loathsome than in his fiercest moments. One glance was enough. Gathering her robes about her, she darts to the farthest extremity of the vast hall. “Moor,” she cries, and the horror she felt was expressed in her features, “for me death has no terrors. For my brother, I do not believe you. Can the eagle nest with the vulture? the dove with the serpent? It is but a cruel wile to deceive me.” “I swear it, lady, by the tomb of the Prophet. Think well before you take your own life and that of those who are dear to you.” He paused, and the unhappy Onesinda felt all the agony of her position. To allow this hideous African to approach her was to her a fate so horrible that flesh and blood rose up in revolt against it. To open the possible chance of success to Pelayo and his followers by the sacrifice of herself is, as a daughter of the Goths, her duty, did she believe his words to be sincere. Looking into his dark face, what assurance had she? In his cruel eyes? In those full red lips, cutting like blood athwart the blackness of his beard? It is the countenance of a savage. Not a generous quality could dwell under such a mask. No, there is nothing in the hard nature of this African on which to form a hope! And yet her brother’s life, if he speaks truly, hangs on his will. She had no means to prove his words. Pelayo is absent, some said already dead. Was this dark treachery towards his Sultan true? Or rather is it not some fiendish scheme to entrap the last remnant of the Goths and raise himself to power and favour with Abdurraman? Bursting into a flood of tears, she casts herself upon the ground and fixes on him her pale blue eyes. “Alas! you know not the heart of woman to make such a proposal. To invoke your pity,” and her voice trembles, “would be as useless as it is mean. Help the noble sons of the land, but insist not on such a sacrifice. By the memory of your father, by the bones of your chiefs, seek not an end so wicked.” Unmoved, Kerim contemplates her, a smile of triumph on his dark face.