of Ind,
A lotus in their hands—

[The door is flung open. Enter the Officers of the Inquisition.]

First Inquisitor.Young Moorish girl
Taken in magic. In the Church's name
I here arrest thee.

Mosada.It is Allah's will.
Touch not this boy, for he is innocent.

Cola. Forgive! for I have told them everything.
They said I'd burn in hell unless I told
Them all, and let them find you in the vapour.

[She turns away—he clings to her dress.]

Forgive me!

Mosada.It was Allah's will.

Second Inquisitor.Now cords.

Mosada. No need to bind my hands. Where are ye, sirs,
For ye are hid with vapours?

Second Inquisitor.Round the stake
The vapour is much thicker.

Cola.God! the stake!
Ye said that ye would fright her from her sin—
No more; take me instead of her, great sirs.
She was my only friend; I'm lame you know—
One shoulder twisted, and the children cry
Names after me.

First Inquisitor. Lady—

Mosada.I come.

Cola [following.]Forgive.
Forgive, or I will die.

Mosada [stooping and kissing him]. 'Twas Allah's will.

Scene II.

A Room, the building of the Inquisition of Granada, lit by
stained window, picturing St. James of Spain.

Monks and Inquisitors.

First Monk. Will you not hear my last new song?

First Inquisitor.Hush, hush!
So she must burn you say.

Second Inquisitor.She must in truth.

First Inquisitor. Will he not spare her life? How would one matter
When there are many?

Second Monk.Ebremar will stamp
This heathen horde away. You need not hope;
And know you not she kissed that pious child
With poisonous lips, and he is pining since?

First Monk. You're full of wordiness. Come, hear my song.

Second Monk. In truth an evil race; why strive for her,
A little Moorish girl?

Second Inquisitor. Small worth.

First Monk.My song—

First Inquisitor. I had a sister like her once my friend.

[Touching the first Monk on the shoulder.]

Where is our brother Peter? When you're nigh,
He is not far. I'd have him speak for her.
I saw his jovial mood bring once a smile
To sainted Ebremar's sad eyes. I think
He loves our brother Peter in his heart.
If Peter would but ask her life—who knows?

First Monk. He digs his cabbages. He brings to mind
That song I've made—is of a Russian tale
Of Holy Peter of the Burning Gate:
A saint of Russia in a vision saw

[Sings]