resting, or staying to seek for roots in the
earth. For, they had made no provision,
and hunger began to make itself felt. Zara,
who had lived as a child in the wild centre
of Africa, ran to and fro, and saved her mistress
the greater part of the trouble. They
ate together; and talked of the anxious
mother who was still praying for their safety.

That night they slept under the cover of a
brown cedar-tree, with branches sweeping
down to the very earth. At an early hour
they were awakened by the trampling of
horses' feet, and the sound of human voices.

"We cannot look inside every tree," said
some one, and they at once recognised that
voice; "but the fugitives must be in this
forest. The wood-cutter saw them. We shall
find them when the day comes. Let us go on."

They rode away; leaving Guzla and her
companion overwhelmed with fear. Neither
of them dared move from beneath their
shelter, even when daylight came, and
remained long, trembling and praying. It
was near noon when Zara, peeping between
the branches, beheld a human figure approaching
slowly, and looking anxiously to the right
and to the left.

"We are discovered," murmured Guzla,
coming to gaze over the shoulder of the slave.
"They have dispersed, and one man will be
sufficient to make us both prisoners."

They soon saw that the form they feared,
was a youth of grave and sober aspect, who
advanced in a line that would have led him
past the tree, but stopped every now and then,
and said in a loud voice:

"This is a warning. If any be concealed
who fear capture, let them come forth at once,
and accept my guidance. I only can lead
them to a place of safety."

"A cunning artifice, truly," quoth Zara.
"We must not stir."

To her surprise, Guzla pushed aside the
branches of the tree that concealed her, and
stood out in the sunlight, with folded arms,
before the young stranger.

"There is truth and virtue in thy aspect,"
said she. "Be then our guide."

The youth gazed at her for a moment in
admiration; and then, without saying a word,
led the way beneath the cedars that stretched
towards the south. They had scarcely entered
a narrow gorge in that direction, before the
wood behind them was filled with the voices
of men shouting to one another. Guzla
started in dismay, and clung to the stranger's
arm.

"There is no fear," said he, smiling gravely.
"We shall soon be in a far country." They
came to a narrow passage in the rock, like a
doorway. As the young man passed through,
he waved his hand in a peculiar manner.
Guzla and Zara followed ; and both for an
instant felt drowsy and bewildered. The whole
world seemed to shrink suddenly from them,
and then to come back as suddenly. They
stepped once, as it were, upon yielding vapour,
and thought that they floated like spirits;
but then, they firmly pressed a lovely slope of
green grass and flowers, shaded here and
there by feathery trees, and leading down to
a series of lakelets, communicating one with
the other by sprinkling cascades; until, far
down, the whole ended in a vast river, which
wound over a plain, until it was lost in an
horizon of mist and gold. Guzla turned
round to look at the passage by which she
had come; but saw no traces thereof. She
wished to question the stranger; but, when
she moved her lips, there was no sound.
Then first she noticed the universal silence
that pervaded this beautiful land. The breezes
did not murmur, nor did the grasses rustle.
The waters moved without noise; and, where-ever
she turned, her steps fell like feathers
upon oil. Yet, it was evident that in that
mysterious region, there were means by which
its inhabitants could communicate their
thoughts, without the deceitful sound of
words. The young man looked at her, and
thus told her from his heart, that this was
the refuge of the unfortunate who wished to
shun the cares, the dangers, and the responsibilities
of the human world. Whoever chose
to abide there, might live for ever in undisturbed
happiness, on one sole condition—not
to regret nor care for the mortals, however
near and dear, whom they had left behind
them. There was no decay to be feared, but
no progress. No new ties could be formed,
and the pangs of separation could not be
felt. That was, in fact, the land of Selfish-Content.

Guzla wandered on with Zara by her
side, feeling an ineffable sense of physical
well-being; but in her heart, there soon
began to stir certain regrets, which even
the presence of that young man, who had
saved her from danger, and who looked so
good and beautiful, could not allay. She
thought of her mother, to whom she could
send no news of her safety, and who would
probably die of grief, if not of ill-treatment.
She thought also of Beyrout, and the green
country on one side, and the blue sea on the
other; of the dark little Maronite church; of
the poor, whose sufferings she used to relieve;
and of the stern tenderness of her father.
Would it not be better to have remained
in that world, even in the midst of danger,
than to have come to this, where there could
be no duty, because there could be no
suffering? The silence around her began to
seem horrible. She tried to raise her voice
in lamentation, but in vain.

Zara was quite happy. She roved to and
fro, and rolled among the flowers; and, when
they came to the banks of the lake, plunged
into the shallow, transparent waters, that
rippled without sound, and spreading forth
her ebony arms, swam to and fro, laughing in
the sunlight. Many forms of men and women,
with tranquil faces, and quiet demeanour,
appeared, coming from beneath the trees, and