Guzla noticed that none walked hand in hand,
but all kept decently apart, as if the slightest
contact would have dissolved their dream of
happiness. She looked at her guide, and told
him her thoughts. He gave her a fearful
glance, that intimated she was endangering
his existence, or his content. He made as if
he would go away; but he could net take his
eyes off those of Guzla. A transformation
came over his countenance. Its tranquillity
disappeared. Joy and anguish struggled for
the mastery. The young people advanced
one towards the other: their hands touched.
Then the whole scene around, wavered and
dimmed, and darker and more real forms rose
on every side: that brilliant land was visible
for a moment in fragments like mirage on
distant valleys. It was not too late to return
to it; but they pressed closer together.
All vanished, and they found themselves sitting
hand in hand in the midst of a wild and
desolate country, over which the sun was just
about to set. Zara came from beneath the
trees; for, without her mistress, there would
be no content for her.

The young man, whose name was Basil, had
fled from oppression, and had lived some
time in the unreal land. They agreed to
put on disguises, and return, in spite of all
dangers, to Beyrout. But, they soon found
that it was far, far distant. Some peasants
whom they met, had, indeed, never heard of
that city. They came to the, habitations of
men, and clothed themselves as pilgrims.
Guzla sold her pearls, and thus they had
sufflcient to defray the expenses of their
journey. They proceeded, mostly by night;
and, whenever they were at a loss for their
path, the star which had guided Guzla at
first, appeared and directed their footsteps.
Yet it was not before many months had
passed, that they stood near the gate of the
city of Beyrout.

"I am afraid to learn the news," said
Guzla. "Go thou, Basil, and I will remain
in this chapel with Zara until you come and
tell me whether my mother be alive or dead,
whether Lanfranc hath departed, and what
hath happened to my father."

Basil shuddered as if they were about to be
separated for ever. During a single instant
he regretted the bright tranquil land he had
quitted for her sake. He begged to be allowed
to kiss her on the brow before he went.
He did so, and departed. Guzla saw him
disappear amidst the crowd that poured in
and out of the great gate of the city, and
waited for his return, weeping bitterly. He
never came, however; for the oppressor from
whom he had fled, met him, and seized him,
and caused him to be thrown into prison.

Towards evening Zara volunteered to go and
endeavour to learn some news of what had
taken place. But, no sooner did she reach
the neighbourhood of Ibrahim's house, than
in old fellow slave recognised and betrayed
her. She was seized by Lanfranc, and
beaten until she expired, refusing to the last
to betray her young mistress. In this way
Guzla was left to pass the night alone in
despair. But as soon as the gates were
opened, she went in, drawing her hood over
her face. There was a great crowd before
her house, so that she could not approach
it with ease. Alarm darkened her soul,
and she eagerly enquired what was the
matter. They told her that the wife of a
wealthy man was about to be buried. This
was enough. She pressed eagerly through
the crowd; her hood falling back in her
efforts, and arrived just in time to see the
bier brought out on which lay her mother.
She threw herself upon the body with a loud
cry. It is said that a smile of love passed
over the face of the corpse. Assuredly, all
present felt that strong love had united those
two persons, and that strong necessity alone
had separated them. When Lanfranc came
forward to seize poor Guzla, they fell upon
him; and, in the midst of great clamour,
attacked him and his friends, so that they
were glad to escape from the city with their
lives. An old man, with a long white beard,
now appeared on the threshold of the house;
and asked fearfully what was the matter.
This was Ibrahim, who, since Lanfranc's
arrival, had ceased to be master in his own
house, and had rarely appeared abroad. A
rough-looking man in the crowd laid his hand
upon Guzla's shoulder. "Effendi," said he,
"this bier is wide enough for two. Thy
daughter is dead likewise." Without waiting
for his answer, the bier-bearers resumed their
burden, and the priests, though they murmured
thats all this was irregular, obeying
the irresistible impulse of the popular voice,
began their chanting. All Beyrout was soon
astir, and even the Mohammedans followed
the procession at a distance.

Guzla's reputation became that of a saint.
She was buried in the same grave with
her mother; and soon afterwards, in the
course of a single night, a magnificent
monument was built over it by the order
of Ibrahim, who devoted all his wealth
to the erection of churches and rests
for travellers, and retired to spend the remainder
of his days in a cell dug out of the
earth, in the wildest part of the mountains.

There is evidently a mystical intention in
this narrative in which the idea of duty which
tells us to meet the worst ills of this life with
courage and constancy, whatever may befal,
predominates, and serves to haimonise and
render acceptable a number of incidents, some
of which are strange and even extravagant.
Is it not indeed better to return boldly with
Zara, and Basil, and Guzla, and put our neck
under the yoke of suffering—even to taste
the bitter waters of death,—than to remain
in the silent land of Seltish-content, where
there is no communion because there are no
desires, no pain because there is no joy, no
hate because there is no love, and where