condole with him as to his childless position,
he used to smile strangely and insinuate that
there might yet be found an heir to inherit
what he had amassed. Yet he never admitted
that his hopes lay in the child of Lisbet, and
that he had some faint reason for believing
that he was not feeding upon a delusion.

The truth is that Hanna, who was a good,
kind man—made better and kinder by all his
misfortunes—as he was travelling between
Bagdad and Damascus, several years after
the loss of Lisbet, fell in with a poor man by
the way, a poor, miserable man, who begged
for succour from amidst some bushes; for he
was totally naked, having been stripped by
robbers. All he asked was a cloak and a
loaf, that he might continue his journey and
reach a neighbouring town. But Hanna
stopped his kafila, and clothed and fed him,
and gave him money, and set him upon a
mule—his own spare mule, white and fit
for a king—and took him all the way to
Damascus, where he set him down in the
street, without so much as asking his name,
his country, or his faith.

This poor stranger was a Jew, who came,
many years afterwards, to Egypt, and
recognised his benefactor. He was also a
magician, who discovered the secret thoughts of
those with whom he conversed; so he said,
one day, to Hanna, "There is a mighty sorrow
within thee; for I see the signature of regret
upon thy brow, near the right temple."

"I regret not to have a child," replied the
merchant.

"Nay," said the Jew; "thy grief hath relation
to a thing past. Tell me thy story, and
I may be of service."

Hanna told his story; and the Jew forthwith
went away, and burned perfumes, and
uttered words, and wrote symbols, and wrestled
with the keepers of the unknown. When he
came back to the merchant, he said, "I have
not discovered all that I wish to know; but
they tell me, that if thou canst find the
Whispering Tree, it will speak to thee of
Lisbet and her child."

The Jew could give no further information;
but Hanna, who believed, began forthwith
to make cautious inquiries about the Whispering
Tree. He questioned not only the people
of Cairo, but wrote to all his correspondents
in various parts of the globe, asking about
this strange thing. Indeed he went about
catechising the world in general respecting
the mysterious Whispering Tree. But he got
no information. All replied that they were
ignorant. Nobody had heard of a tree that
whispered. Year after year Hanna persisted
in inquiring of every stranger who arrived
from various provinces, whether he knew
anything about the Whispering Tree; until time
passed, and strength began to fail. When all
his friends were tired of hearing him ask the
same question, and he became tired of asking
it, despair was a frequent visitor with him.

One day, he was at Gizneh, in a garden
drinking coffee with his friend Malek, and
listening to the bubbling of his water-pipe,
when, along the path leading from the
pyramids, appeared coming a string of laden
camels accompanied by many men. "Is it
the caravan from Mourzuk?" inquired
Hanna.—"Nay," replied Malek; "that
caravan came in the week past; and I know not
from what country this arrival may be."
They went to the garden-gate, moved by
curiosity; and waited until the forerunners
of the caravan came by.

Their costume was that of the sons of the
desert, except that round the head was a
wrapper which enfolded both the brow and
the mouth, leaving little more than the eyes
exposed.

"They are of the Muthelameen," said
Malek; "and come from the deserts towards
Beled-es-Soudan; but of what tribe we shall
only learn by asking." Then he raised his
voice, and said, "O strangers, merchants;
from what country, and with what merchandize?"
The man addressed muttered from
beneath his muffler, "From Agdaz in the
land of Ahir, Avith gold-dust and ivory, and
a remnant of slaves, the strong and the
sturdy, the rest having perished by the way."
So saying, he passed on.

"Hast thou ever heard of this country?"
inquired Hauna. "But little," said Malek.
"It is not a country of commerce; and I
cannot understand why they should have
come this way." As he spoke, a youth of
pleasant countenance, riding on a camel, with
his mouth uncovered, came slowly towards
them. "O young man," cried Hanna, as if
obeying a sudden inspiration, " thou comest
from unknown lands over wonderful regions.
Perchance thou canst tell me of the Whispering
Tree." "It is at Kama," replied the
youth, striking with his heel the neck of his
camel, and causing it to turn out of the line
and stop, " and what, my father, is the reason
of thy curiosity?" "'Tis a long story,"
replied Hanna; "but if thou wilt alight and
repose thyself after thy fatigue, I will relate
it to thee." The young man leaped down,
called to a black man who had followed him
on foot to take care of the camel, and entered
the garden with the two old men.

When he had heard the story of the
merchant, the young stranger said: "My story is
similar to thine, O my father. Thou art
seeking what thou hast perhaps never seen.
I am seeking what has only appeared to me
in a vision. I come not of the Muthelameen
of Agdaz. My father was a merchant of
Egypt, who travelled with me into the land of
Talebs, of wise men and magicians, and dying,
left me there a child. Now it happened a
year ago that I dreamed a dream, and, lo! a
maiden of surpassing beauty came and bent over
me like a lily over a pool of sleeping water,
bent and bent until her lips swept my temple,
and I awoke tremulous as after a kiss of
love. I stretched my arms in the darkness,