Alroy | Page 6

me a
moment, Miriam. Nay, dry those tears.'
'Oh, Alroy! they are not tears of sorrow.'
'God be with thee! Thou art the charm and consolation of my life.
Farewell! farewell!
'I do observe the influence of women very potent over me. 'Tis not of
such stuff that they make heroes. I know not love, save that pure
affection which doth subsist between me and this girl, an orphan and
my sister. We are so alike, that when, last Passover, in mimicry she
twined my turban round her head, our uncle called her David.

'The daughters of my tribe, they please me not, though they are passing
fair. Were our sons as brave as they are beautiful, we still might dance
on Sion. Yet have I often thought that, could I pillow this moody brow
upon some snowy bosom that were my own, and dwell in the
wilderness, far from the sight and ken of man, and all the care and toil
and wretchedness that groan and sweat and sigh about me, I might
haply lose this deep sensation of overwhelming woe that broods upon
by being. No matter! Life is but a dream, and mine must be a dull one.'
Without the gates of Hamadan, a short distance from the city, was an
enclosed piece of elevated ground, in the centre of which rose an
ancient sepulchre, the traditionary tomb of Esther and Mordecai.[3]
This solemn and solitary spot was an accustomed haunt of Alroy, and
thither, escaping from the banquet, about an hour before sunset, he this
day repaired.
As he unlocked the massy gate of the burial-place, he heard behind him
the trampling of a horse; and before he had again secured the entrance,
some one shouted to him.
He looked up, and recognised the youthful and voluptuous Alschiroch,
the governor of the city, and brother of the sultan of the Seljuks. He
was attended only by a single running footman, an Arab, a detested
favourite, and notorious minister of his pleasures.
'Dog!' exclaimed the irritated Alschiroch, 'art thou deaf, or obstinate, or
both? Are we to call twice to our slaves? Unlock that gate!'
'Wherefore?' inquired Alroy.
'Wherefore! By the holy Prophet, he bandies questions with us! Unlock
that gate, or thy head shall answer for it!'
'Who art thou,' inquired Alroy, 'whose voice is so loud? Art thou some
holiday Turk, who hath transgressed the orders of thy Prophet, and
drunken aught but water? Go to, or I will summon thee before thy
Cadi;' and, so saying, he turned towards the tomb.
'By the eyes of my mother, the dog jeers us! But that we are already

late, and this horse is like an untamed tiger, I would impale him on the
spot. Speak to the dog, Mustapha! manage him!'
'Worthy Hebrew,' said the silky Mustapha, advancing, 'apparently you
are not aware that this is our Lord Alschiroch. His highness would fain
walk his horse through the burial-ground of thy excellent people, as he
is obliged to repair, on urgent matters, to a holy Santon, who sojourns
on the other side of the hill, and time presses.'
'If this be our Lord Alschiroch, thou doubtless art his faithful slave,
Mustapha.'
'I am, indeed, his poor slave. What then, young master?'
'Deem thyself lucky that the gate is closed. It was but yesterday thou
didst insult the sister of a servant of my house. I would not willingly
sully my hands with such miserable blood as thine, out away, wretch,
away!'
'Holy Prophet! who is this dog?' exclaimed the astonished governor.
''Tis the young Alroy,' whispered Mustapha, who had not at first
recognised him; 'he they call their Prince; a most headstrong youth. My
lord, we had better proceed.'
'The young Alroy! I mark him. They must have a prince too! The
young Alroy! Well, let us away, and, dog!' shouted Alschiroch, rising
in his stirrups, and shaking his hand with a threatening air, 'dog!
remember thy tribute!'
Alroy rushed to the gate, but the massy lock was slow to open; and ere
he could succeed, the fiery steed had borne Alschiroch beyond pursuit.
An expression of baffled rage remained for a moment on his
countenance; for a moment he remained with his eager eye fixed on the
route of his vanished enemy, and then he walked slowly towards the
tomb; but his excited temper was now little in unison with the still
reverie in which he had repaired to the sepulchre to indulge. He was

restless and disquieted, and at length he wandered into the woods,
which rose on the summit of the burial-place.
He found himself upon a brow crested with young pine-trees, in the
midst of which rose a mighty cedar. He threw himself beneath its thick
and shadowy branches, and looked upon a valley small