"I do believe he is no king, my Pedro," she said, "but only, as
he says, a poor Morisco beggar. Let us rather try to help him. He
hath no castles I am sure, and as for his armies----"
"His armies! there they come; look, sister!" cried little Pedro,
breaking into his sister's words; "now will you believe me?" and
following his gaze, Theresa herself started as she saw dashing
down the mountain highway what looked to her unpractised eye like
a whole band of Moorish cavalry with glimmering lances and
streaming pennons.
Pedro faced the charge with drawn sword. Theresa knelt on the
ground with silver crucifix upraised, expecting instant
martyrdom, while the old Moorish tramp, Abd-el-'Aman, believing
discretion to be the better part of valor, quietly dropped down
by the side of the rocky roadway, for well he understood who were
these latest comers.
The Moorish cavalry, which proved to be three Spaniards on
horseback, drew up before the young crusaders.
"So, runaways, we have found you," cried one of them, as he
recognized the children. "Come, Theresa, what means this folly?
Whither are you and Pedro bound?"
"We were even starting for a crusade against the Moor, Brother
Jago," said Theresa, timidly, "but our Infidel friend here--why,
where hath he gone?--says that there are neither Infidel castles
nor Moorish armies now, and that therefore we may not be
crusaders.
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