gardens. He laidManoel down, with his head on a heap of turf, and kneeling beside him,made the sign of the cross over him, and repeated the Pater Noster,while a smile of peace passed over the face of the dying boy.
Beside them knelt Leila, brought there by her sweet impulse of pity.She clasped the cross still hanging within her dress, and thelong-forgotten words of the prayer taught in her childhood rose to herlips. The words were hardly said, Fernando bent down to kiss Manoel'sbrow, when the end came, and with a long, gasping sigh, _one_ prisonerwas free.
"_He_ is at rest," said Fernando, in thankful accents, though his lipsquivered as he thought how much he should miss the special love whichthis poor boy had borne him.
Leila stood trembling beside him, hardly knowing that she looked ondeath, and Hassan, seeing something amiss, came hurrying down to them,and not unkindly summoned some of the other Portuguese to bear awaytheir comrade, allowing Fernando to follow, while he called other slavesto finish their work.
Leila was surrounded by her companions, who pressed her with a thousandfrivolous questions, more amused at the exciting incident than horrifiedat it.
Leila shrank away from them, and as soon as she found herself alone, satdown under a tree and tried to think--tried to remember.
Long ago a strange pang had shot through her, when she had recognised inthe toiling slaves her fellow-Christians. And the sight of Fernando hadawakened in her a whole world of recollections; had made her suddenlyfeel, as well as know, that she was not of kin to the soft luxuriouslife around her--her kindred were these wretched toiling slaves--herfaith should be their faith--in their sorrows she, too, ought to suffer.
Leila could not have clearly explained this to herself; she could onlyfeel the strong impulse that twice had carried her to the aid of aChristian slave in distress. And now an odd sort of instinctive respectfor the prince, who had been the hero of her babyhood, rose up in hermind. She had been taught but little religion to put in the place ofthe forgotten faith she had learnt with her sister so long ago; and theonly result of being a Christian that could occur to her was miserableslavery. A great terror came over her, she tried to wake as from adream, and ran back hurriedly to her companions.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
LOVING SERVICE.
"Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; A free and quiet mind doth take These for a hermitage."
The streets of Fez presented often a motley mixture of passengers--merchants and traders of all nations mingling with the Moorishinhabitants and with the numerous slaves.
One morning, bright with all the glory of a southern spring, a tallyoung man, sunburnt, and carrying a merchant's pack, was standing in oneof the chief streets watching the passers-by. First was a darkEthiopian, heavily fettered; then several of the lower-class Moorsthemselves; then a pair of slender, long-limbed Italians, trudgingwearily beneath a burden too heavy for them. The trader accosted them--
"Can you direct me to the lodging assigned to the Portuguese prisoners?I would speak, if permitted, with the Prince Dom Fernando."
"Softly, Signor," said the Italian; "it is not so we obtain speech withfriends. There is the lodging for your compatriots; but all day theytoil in the royal gardens."
"That wretched hovel?" ejaculated the stranger.
"Ay, and now I recollect one of the Portuguese told me sadly, but now,that their prince was sick, so he will be within. Maybe a bribe totheir warder will gain you an entrance."
Like one in a dream, the young man moved towards the entrance of the lowstone building which his acquaintance had indicated, and accosted a Moorwho stood before the door.
"I am servant to Paolo, a Majorcan merchant," he said, "who is permittedto visit the prisoners. Will the King of his grace permit me entrance?"and he dropped a purse into the warder's hand as he spoke.
"Well, may be, if you leave your pack behind you. Who knows what it maycontain?"
"Willingly, so I may take these few dried fruits to my compatriots."
The warder sullenly unlocked the door, and ushered the young merchantinto a small low room, with no furniture save a few sheepskins thrown onthe floor. On one of these, in a corner, lay a figure, worn and wasted,and dressed in a torn and ragged coat of the commonest serge. His eyeswere closed as if asleep, and only the delicate outline of the features,and the fair hair, still tended more or less carefully, bore anyresemblance to the Infante Fernando.
"Wake!--rouse up!" said the Moor with a rough push. "House up, slave!--here's a visitor for you."
The prisoner opened his large blue eyes and looked up languidly.
"Just a draught of water," he said, faintly, "for my lips are parchedwith this fever."
"My prince!--oh, my prince! My lord, my lord!--oh, wretched day, that Ishould see this! Curses on the ruffians. Oh, my dear master!" and downdropped the young merchant on his knees, sobbing, and covering theprince's hand with kisses.
"What!--Harry Hartsed! Not a prisoner too?"
"No, no! Alas, alas!"
"Hush!" said Fernando. "Come, good Moussa, thou knowest I am to betrusted. Withdraw but for a few minutes."
"Well--'tisn't much harm can be done. I'll get you that draught ofwater, since a tamer set of birds I never had in cage." And locking thedoor behind him, Moussa went out.
"That man is often kind to us," said Fernando; "but oh, Master Hartsed,what brings you here?"
"I come--I have sought your highness for months--that a word from youmight right me. But oh! what are my wrongs to this? Oh, my lord! letme but share your prison, that I may wait on you and tend you. Alas,alas!"
"Nay, nay," said Fernando, "I have no lack of loving tendance, andto-morrow I hope to be at my work again, for this is but a passingsickness, and at night my poor friends return to me. But when were youat Lisbon? My brothers!--oh, Harry, you come from home?" and the gentleeyes grew wistful, and filled with tears.
"I come not now from Lisbon," said Harry, "and I know not what is nowpassing there. My lord, when you were sick formerly, you wouldsometimes rest on my arm--so--"
"Thanks--thanks!"
The poor prince closed his eyes; the familiar voice and touch, unknownfor so long, brought back a dream of home. Could he but sleep so, andknow no waking in his dreary prison! It almost seemed for a moment asif, when his eyes opened, he should see Enrique leaning over him, andhear his loving greeting. Ah, never--never! till they met in Paradise!With a great effort he roused himself, for time was passing.
"But these wrongs of which you speak?"
Harry was silent. The boiling indignation in which he had quittedLisbon, the rage and hate that had proved his own undoing, sank awayashamed; and it was very meekly that at length he told his tale--told ofthe false accusation, the quarrel with Alvarez, the anger of Sir Walter,the hasty banishment, adding, as he had never done before--
"My lord, had I been patient, it might have been otherwise with me."
"Ah, dear friend, there is no remedy but patience for all the evilsbrought on us by our own rash folly. Repentance and patience. But now,have you tablets?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Then--your arm again for a moment, and I will Write--for Moussa willsoon return." So saying the prince wrote--
"I, Fernando of Avis, declare that Harry Hartsed was my most faithfulfriend and servant, and that no charge of treason can be proved againsthim, and I beg my dear brother, Dom Enrique, to look once more into thematter."
"Go, Harry," said the prince, "at once to my brother. And now I have amatter to tell you. I have found Catalina Northberry, Sir Walter's lostchild."
"My lord! Where?"
"Here, in the royal palace of Fez. She is the slave of the PrincessZarah; but happy and tenderly nurtured. Alas! I know not whetherescape is possible for her; but she knows her name and has a kind heart.I dare not write of her; but you might, through Paolo, obtain speechwith her, and take welcome news to Sir Walter," said Fernando,concluding with a smile.
Harry lo
oked as if he could hardly believe in so startling acoincidence.
"But oh, my dear lord! your sufferings--this wretched place."
"I can but thank our blessed Saviour, and those holy saints who havefollowed in His steps, for the grace that has been given me so tomeditate on their examples, and to remember their far greatersufferings, as to bear with somewhat less repining _my_ share in theblessed cross. For what is it that _I_ should bear rough words, or nowand then a blow, when for my sake the Lord Himself was mocked andscourged?"
"And oh," thought Harry, with bent head, "what is it then that _I_should be misjudged?"
"And yet," said Fernando, "since our dear Lord knows how weak I am, andhow hard it is to hold a firm heart