Valley of Lions, and the Valley ofDevils—this is the way in which Orientals localise the
supposed dangers of travelling —arrived at
the good city of Bassora ; where his uncle
received him well, and promised to send him
as supercargo on board the first vessel he
despatched to the Indian seas. What time
was spent by the caravan upon the road, the
narrative does not state. Travelling is slow
work in the East; but almost immediately
on his arrival in Bassora, Halil was engaged
in a love adventure. If travelling is slow,
the approaches of manhood are rapid. The
youth's curiosity was excited by the
extraordinary care taken to conceal his cousin
Miriam from his sight ; and having introduced
himself into her garden, beheld, and,
struck by her wonderful beauty, loved her.
With an Oriental fondness, he confessed the
truth to his uncle, who listened with anger
and dismay, and told him that Miriam was
betrothed to the Sultan. Halil perceived
the danger of indulging his passion, and
promised to suppress it ; but whilst he played a
prudent part, Miriam's curiosity was also
excited, and she too beheld and loved her
cousin. Bolts and bars cannot keep two such
affections asunder. They met and plighted
their troth, and were married secretly, and
were happy. But inevitable discovery came.
Miriam was thrown into a dungeon ; and the
unhappy Halil, loaded with chains, was put
on board a vessel, not as supercargo, but as
prisoner ; with orders that he should be left
in some distant country.

Meanwhile a dreadful pestilence fell upon
Beyrout, and among the first sufferers was an
eighth little one, that had just learned to say
"Baba! " Selima was almost too astonished
to be grieved. It seemed to her impossible
that death should come into her house, and
meddle with the fruits of so much suffering
and love. When they came to take away the
little form which she had so often fondled,
her indignation burst forth, and she smote the
first old woman who stretched out her rough
unsympathetic hand. But a shriek from her
waiting-women announced that another vic-
tim was singled out; and the frantic mother
rushed like a tigress to defend the young that
yet remained to her. But the enemy was
invisible; and (so the story goes) all her little
ones drooped one by one and died; so that on
the seventh day Selima sat in her nursery
gazing about with stony eyes, and counting
her losses upon her fingers — Iskender, Selima,
Wardy, Fadlallah, Hanna, Hennenah, Gereges
—seven in all. Then she remembered Halil,
and her neglect of him; and, lifting up her
voice, she wept aloud; and, as the tears
rushed fast and hot down her cheeks, her
heart yearned for her absent boy, and she
would have parted with worlds to have fallen
upon his breast— would have given up her life
in return for one word of pardon and of love.

Fadlallah came in to her; and he was now
very old and feeble. His back was bent, and
his transparent hand trembled as it clutched
a cane. A white beard surrounded a still
whiter face ; and as he came near his wife, he
held out his hand towards her with an uncertain
gesture, as if the room had been dark.
This world appeared to him but dimly.
" Selima," said he, " the Giver hath taken.
We, too, must go in our turn. Weep, my
love ; but weep with moderation, for those
little ones that have gone to sing in the golden
cages of Paradise. There is a heavier sorrow
in my heart. Since my first-born, Halil,
departed for Bassora, I have only written once
to learn intelligence of him. He was then
well, and had been received with favour by
his uncle. We have never done our duty
by that boy." His wife replied, " Do not
reproach me ; for I reproach myself more
bitterly than thou canst do. Write, then, to thy
brother to obtain tidings of the beloved one.
I will make of this chamber a weeping chamber.
It has resounded with merriment enough.
All my children learned to laugh and to talk
here. I will hang it with black, and erect a
tomb in the midst ; and every day I will
come and spend two hours, and weep for those
who are gone and for him who is absent."
Fadlallah approved her design ; and they made
a weeping chamber, and lamented together
every day therein. But their letters to Bassora
remained unanswered ; and they began
to believe that fate had chosen a solitary tomb
for Halil.

One day a woman, dressed in the garb of
the poor, came to the house of Fadlallah with
a boy about twelve years old. When the
merchant saw them he was struck with amazement,
for he beheld in the boy the likeness of
his son Halil; and he called aloud to Selima,
who, when she came, shrieked with amazement.
The woman told her story, and it
appeared that she was Miriam. Having spent
some months in prison, she had escaped and
taken refuge in a forest in the house of her
nurse. Here she had given birth to a son,
whom she had called by his father's name.
When her strength returned, she had set out
as a beggar to travel over the world in search
of her lost husband. Marvellous were the
adventures she underwent, God protecting her
throughout, until she came to the land of
Persia, where she found Halil working as a
slave in the garden of the Governor of Fars.
After a few stolen interviews, she had again
resumed her wanderings to seek for Fadlallah,
that he might redeem his son with wealth;
but had passed several years upon the road.

Fortune, however, now smiled upon this
unhappy family, and in spite of his age,
Fadlallah set out for Fars. Heaven made the
desert easy, and the road short for him. On
a fine calm evening he entered the gardens of
the governor, and found his son gaily singing
as he trimmed an orange tree. After a vain
attempt to preserve an incognito, the good old
man lifted up his hands, and shouting, " Halil,
my first born! " fell upon the breast of the