Almamen glared round; no succour was at hand. "I am not your enemy," said he, sullenly, throwing down his weapon—"bear me to your camp."
A trooper seized his rein, and, scouring along, the Spaniards soon reached the retreating army.
Meanwhile the evening darkened, the shout and the roar grew gradually less loud and loud the battle had ceased the stragglers had joined their several standards; and, by the light of the first star, the Moorish force, bearing their wounded brethren, and elated with success, re-entered the gates of Granada, as the black charger of the hero of the day, closing the rear of the cavalry, disappeared within the gloomy portals.
CHAPTER III.
THE HERO IN THE POWER OF THE DREAMER.
IT was in the same chamber, and nearly at the same hour, in which we first presented to the reader Boabdil El Chico, that we are again admitted to the presence of that ill-starred monarch. He was not alone. His favourite slave, Amine, reclined upon the ottomans, gazing with anxious love upon his thoughtful countenance, as he leant against the glittering wall by the side of the casement, gazing abstractedly on the scene below.
From afar he heard the shouts of the populace at the return of Muza, and bursts of artillery confirmed the tidings of triumph which had already been borne to his ear.
"May the king live for ever!" said Amine, timidly; "his armies have gone forth to conquer."
"But without their king," replied Boabdil, bitterly, "and headed by a traitor and a foe. I am meshed in the nets of an inextricable fate!"
"Oh!" said the slave, with sudden energy, as, clasping her hands, she rose from her couch,—"oh, my lord! would that these humble lips dared utter other words than those of love!"
"And what wise counsel would they give me?" asked Boabdil, with a faint smile. "Speak on."
"I will obey thee, then, even if it displease," cried Amine; and
