"O spare him, spare my brother, noble emir. Let me die in his
stead," cried the terrified Theresa, not quite so confident now
as to the pleasure of martyrdom.
The old man stretched out his staff and stopped the headlong dash
of the boy. Then laying a hand lightly on his assailant's head he
looked smilingly toward Theresa.
"Neither prince nor emir am I, Christian maiden," he said, "but
the poor Morisco Abd-el-'Aman of Cordova, seeking my son Ali,
who, men say, is servant to a family in Valladolid. Pray you if
you have aught to eat give some to me, for I am famishing."
This was not exactly martyrdom; it was, in fact, quite the
opposite, and the little Theresa was puzzled as to her duty in
the matter. Pedro, however, was not at all undecided.
"Give our bread and cake to a nasty old Moor?" he cried; "I
should say we will not, will we, sister? We need it for
ourselves. Besides, what dreadful thing is it that the Holy
Inquisition does to people who succor the infidel Moors?"
Theresa shuddered. She knew too well all the stories of the
horrible punishments that the Holy Office, known as the
Inquisition of Spain, visited upon those who harbored Jews or
aided the now degraded Moors.
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