abreast of Abul Malek's point of vantage Joseph paused to listen. A
songbird was trilling wondrously and the monk's face, raised toward
the pomegranate trees, became transfigured. He changed as if by
magic; his lips parted in a tender smile, his figure grew tense with
listening; not until the last note had died away did he move. Then
a great breath stirred his lungs, and with shining eyes and rapt
countenance he went on into the fields.

Abul Malek rose, his white teeth gleaming through his beard.

"Allah be praised!" he exclaimed. "It is music!" And rolling up his
papers, he went into the house.

Early on the following morning another cavalcade filed down past the
monastery of San Sebastian; but this procession was in great contrast
to the one that had gone by five years before. Instead of gaily
caparisoned warriors, it was composed mainly of women and slaves, with
a mere handful of guards to lead the way. There were bondmaidens and
seamstresses, an ancient nurse and a tutor of languages; while astride
of a palfrey at her father's side rode the youthful lady of the
castle. Her veil was wet upon her cheeks, her eyes were filled with
shadows; yet she rode proudly, like a princess.

Once more the train moved past the sun-baked walls of the monastery,
across the plain to the mountain road that led to the land of bounty
and of culture. Late that afternoon Brother Joseph learned from the
lips of a herdsman that the beauteous Zahra, flower of all the Moorish
race, had gone to Cordova to study music.