CHAPTER XXVI. THE HERDSMAN'S BOARD.
The two speakers had now reached
the front of their cabin, and Gaspar, saying
that he had to look after his goats,
turned to leave Alfonzo at the door.
`You will go in and get some dinner,
father,' he said; `it is two hours past
noon.'
`That is true!' answered Gaspar, entering
the cabin; `I had forgotten that I
was as hungry as a bear on a month's
fast. Here comes Xariffa with a pitcher
of goat's milk in her hand, and the table
is set for us, I see. Well, girl, the Moor
is on his way to Cordova, and, by the
mass! we are well rid of him. Ah! holy
father, art thou still honoring my humble
roof? Thou shalt eat with me this day,
for long abstinence is not good for thy
age; fasts are for young, lusty fellows,
to mortify the flesh, not for thee. Come,
here is a flagon of sour wine: it is the
best the Moors have left us, and we must
call it Aldana, and believe it so! Here
is goat's milk on the board, holy father,
if thou likest it better; and I see that the
active Xariffa—Heaven bless her!—has
placed a loaf for each of us. Come, father,
say a grace, and let us fall to!'
`Thou art too hospitable for thy purse,
son,' answered the monk; `but I will eat
with thee gladly; I have need of strength,
for I have duties before me.'
With these words the hermit drew up
to the humble board; and while Alfonzo,
Xariffa, and old Gaspar, stood reverently
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around it, he asked a blessing upon the
coarse fare. They then sat down, the
three men, while Xariffa walked about
the table waiting upon them, filling now
Gaspar's brown mug with sour wine, now
urging the hermit to take more of the
fresh goat's milk, or help himself to more
of the loaf, and now filling her brother's
cup with fair water.
They ate with appetites and enjoyment;
and when the first edge of their
fasting was taken off, Gaspar proceeded
to relate, in his blunt way, the adventures
of himself and Alfonzo in the forest.
The Monk was amazed at the treachery
of the Moor, and Xariffa could
hardly refrain from openly expressing
her indignation. But she discreetly kept
quiet, for fear that she might, by some
unadvised expression, betray the fact that
the false Saracen had seen and talked
with her. She knew that such intelligence
would deeply, and with reason,
afflict her brother, and that she could
scarcely succeed in clearing herself from
all blame in the face of the fierce and
angry excitement which the knowledge
of it would produce. She, therefore,
listened in silence, her features expressing
to her brother vividly enough her
sense of the infamous conduct of their
late guest.
`I don't know that I ought to be surprised,
my children,' said the monk.—
`This is the Moor's character. It would
have been surprising, had you returned,
Alfonzo, and told me you had guided
the Saracen till he fell in with a party of
his followers in search of him, and that
he suffered you to depart in safety.'
`By the red mass! I shonld have been
surprised too!' responded Gaspar, as he
put down from his lips the half-emptied
mug, after a long draught.
`There is no red mass, my son,' answered
the hermit, in a severe tone of reproof.
`I have often had occasion to re
mind thee that thy oaths are not well
chosen, and are too frequent.'
`Then, by the mass! I'll swear no
more, holy father, save when I come
across a Moor; then I will swear. They
are always swearing by their Allah and
their Prophet's beard, and I am not going
to be put down by such hounds, in this
matter. Besides, a good oath, sworn in
faith, hath a blessing in it!'
`Thou mayest swear, if need be, on
certain occasions; but see that thou use
no more thy favorite adjuration of the
red mass. There is no mass but one.'
`I thank thee, father; but I have
heard Christian knights swear by the red
cross!'
`That is different, for the cross was indeed
reddened by the blood of him who
was nailed thereon.'
`I see, father! My religious education
was something neglected in my
youth; and I thank thee for thy teaching.
Would it be a sin for a Chrisrian
to swear by Allah?'
`It would be both a sin and a great
evil, my son! Thou shouldst make no
use of the words of the Infidel. I know
not if it is right to learn and speak their
barbaric and unholy tongue so much as
we do. Daughter, this bread is very
sweet and palatable! I never find such
bread in any other house in the Sierras.
Thou art an excellent housewife!'
`That she is, holy father. Thou canst
never throw away praise in giving it to
Xariffa. She is a rare maiden for one
who has been so many years without a
mother! Such a man as I am, father,
makes but a poor dame for a girl! But
I have done my best, and she is docile,
and things come to her hand easily. Alfonzo
here has, however, done most for
her. She must thank him and not me!'
`Nay, father, I owe myself, all that I
am, to both of you!' said the pleased
Xariffa.
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`And to the holy father! He hath
had the religious teaching. But for him
thou wouldst not have known the difference
between a red mass and a white
one. Thou shouldst thank him also.'
`I do, dear father Godfrey,' responded
the maiden, smiling gratefully upon the
venerable face of her teacher. `I know
that I belong to each and all of you; and
I ought to be happy to be so loved and
protected.'
`Yes, thou wilt find protection, daughter,
not only from our arms, but those of
every youth and old man in the Sierras,
for many leagues west and east. They
all know thee and love thee. It is no light
affection that causes all people to call
thee the Star of the Sierras; yet thou art
spoken of more by this pretty title by all
the young men and maidens, than by thy
own christened name. It shows thou art
good as well as comely!'
`My father always goes on thus praising
me when one begins,' said Xariffa,
laughing and blushing, as she looked towards
the hermit.
`He has said none too much, daughter
If thou couldst hear Alfonzo discourse
of thee thou wouldst not heed thy father's
praise.'
`I know the boy loves her almost as
well as I do.'
`As well, father!' cried Alfonzo, `I
will have it that I love her quite as well.
Who is so dear to me as my sister?'
Xariffa thanked him by a sweet look
of affection, but at the same time gave
him a glance so peculiar that he knew
that she would have said, had she put the
glance into words, `I know I am dear to
thee, brother, but still I believe that Genilla
is still more dearly beloved.'
The humble meal at length ended, and
the two herdsmen rose up, Gaspar to go
after his goats, which he had left under
the care of Pablo, up the cliff, and Alfonzo
to return to the charge of his gazelles,
which the faithful Ban had been guarding,
as they fed far up the mountain.
`I am going up to my cell, and will ascend
the pathway with thee, son,' said
the hermit.
`I am glad I can help thee up, father.
I hope you will accept my father's kind
invitation, and live with us. Thou art
getting too old to climb the mountain.'
`Thanks, sons, both of you. But I am
yet strong. I have, it is true, been something
ill of late; but it was, I doubt not,
from too much fasting. I will take more
care of my health: as I find I can't endure
the vigils and penance I once did.'
`It is impossible you should, father,'
answered Gaspar. `Now, fare thee well.
I go to my work; for I have a nice garden
on the cliffs, which I dig in while my
goats feed. The soil is as rich as butter.
Thou shalt eat garlic and Spanish lentils
from it yet.'
Thus speaking, Gaspar started off alone
taking his way along a path that led
through the gorge. Alfonzo and the old
man went up the mountain track, the
latter refusing the aid of the young man.
At length they gained the uplands of
the Sierras, and Alfonzo found his gazelles
feeding in security under the guardianship
of Ban.
`I will go on with thee to thy cell, father.
'
`No. I will not take thee from thy
flock. Besides I would sleep awhile when
I get there, and thou wouldst be alone.'
`You have been abroad much of late,
father.'
`Yes.'
`Did you not go into the valley, last
night?' asked Alfonzo, wishing very
much to know, if he could draw it from
him, the object of his visit to the Emir's
Tower.'
`How know you this?' asked the hermit
quickly.
Alfonzo was about frankly to tell the
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holy father, but he feared to let him
know that he himself was also at Ben
Osmin's; therefore he said, evasively.
`I saw thee go in the direction of the
valley. It is dangerous for you to venture
far from the mountain, father. The
Moors will not even respect thy white
hairs.'
`I must go and come as my duty calls
me, my son,' answered the hermit; and
he fixed his eyes keenly upon the quiet
face of the young man, to see if there was
any reason to suspect that he knew where
he had been.
`True, father. How clear the atmosphere
is here, father. Yonder party of
horse is full three miles away over the
valley, yet how distinctly we can see
them from this height. I should not be
surprised if it were the troop commanded
by the treacherous Abdelasis.
`I cannot see so far, my son; my eyes
are, therefore, not pained with the sight
of the Moslem banners.'
`There is the Moor who lives by yonder
tower, at the foot of the Sierra,' continued
Alfonzo; `is he a quiet person?'
`It is Ben Osmin; and I believe, for a
Moor, he is an honest man,' answered
the hermit. `Why this question, my
son?'
`It becomes us to know well who our
neighbors are, father, in these troublesome
times. We must know who to
trust; this Ben Osmin may be a spy of
the Emirs.'
`No; I believe he lives quietly there
with his daughter;—but thou shouldst not
think of him, for then thou wilt think of
her. Remember thy sin, my son! Turn
away thine eyes from temptation. But I
wrong thee! I do not fear that thou
wouldst ever give thought to an Infidel
maiden. Hast thou forgotten this one?'
`I hope I shall never be censured by
you again, father, on her account.'
`I am glad of it, my son; think of thy
herds, and thou wilt leave little room for
the magic of Moorish women's arts to
hurt thee.'
Thus speaking, the hermit bade him
farewell, and went slowly up the remainder
of the path, and was soon afterwards
lost to the eye of Alfonzo.
In spite of the holy father's caution,
the young mountaineer let his eyes wander
in the direction of the Emir's tower;
and sharply did he gaze down into the
court of the cottage, in hope that he should
espy the fair form of Genilla, with whom,
since he had been her lover, he had often
exchanged signals from the cliff,—he
waving his shepherd's scarf, and she her
snowy veil. But he did not see her, and
it suddenly came to his recollection—
what the recent stirring events had caused
him to forget—that Genilla had doubtless
departed that morning with her father,
Ben Osmin, to visit Cordova.
END OF VOLUME FIRST.
