The Knight of Leon by Sylvanus Cobb Jr.

THE knight of Leon had seen a week of dull monotony in his Granadan prison. He had asked the man who brought him his food how long he was to remain there, and he had asked Tarik, too, but he gained no answer to his inquiry save that of ignorance.

Tarik was sitting alone in his office--a small room in the lower story of the prison--early in the morning, when he was aroused from his meditations by the entrance of an old dervish. The old man's brow was wrinkled and weather-beaten, and his unshorn face bore a wild, luxuriant growth of white beard. He stooped in his gait, and his trembling hands bore a steel-pointed staff, with which he aided his weak steps.