village khan, she to her old father's side, where ere long she fell fast asleep. Who shall say how proud Hassan was of that sleeping beauty, the living replica of the long-since dead kotona he had loved so well?

There he sat, in a sort of day-dream, picturing what the future of his only child might be, though his wildest ambition did not soar beyond the pastoral delights of his own idyllic life, which had been one of pure love unalloyed by the tinselled and all-too-quickly-tarnished pleasures to be found in great cities and princely palaces.

'His chebouk had gone out; yet Murada still lay there dreaming the happy moments away, her bright golden hair falling in dishevelled masses on his arm-indeed, the old man had almost dosed himself, and probably would have done so, had he not been aroused by the tinkling of camel bells, and the sound of distant voices; all the bustle and commotion, in fact, of an approaching caravan, which, with a bend in the road, now came in sight, slowly toiling along in the direction of Baghdad.

On arriving at the spot where the two were resting, one of the party, lagging somewhat behind the rest, drew rein, that he might feast his eyes on Murada's loveliness.

"Shepherd," said he, in an ecstasy of admiration, "yonder you see the camel train of my master, laden with rich spices and choice raiments-all these and much more are the property of the merchant prince, the great pasha, to whom we are but as slaves. I would tell thee, O shepherd, that he is as wise and good as he is rich, and that to bask in his smiles is to enjoy a foretaste of Paradise. Therefore would I offer to thy fair daughter a home in his palace near Baghdad, the luxury of which is altogether beyond ordinary human comprehension; besides which I am authorised to offer to thee, in return, whatever thou mayest desire in money and goods; so that, if thou so willest, thou too may from henceforth become also a rich trader, or settle down to the quiet enjoyment of accumulating wealth in the great bazaar."

'Then Hassan, gazing fondly on his child, replied that for all the wealth of Asia he would not part with her-not even though the Caliph himself should demand her of him.

'So the stranger went his way, cursing the old man's folly at thus defying the dictates of Kismet, while the shepherd, in

happy tranquillity, dozed away by Murada's side in the quiet enjoyment of their midday siesta.

'Now, how long he slept it is impossible to say; but it was with a strange drowsiness that he awoke, and with something like horror that he discovered it to be night, and that he was alone-yes, alone-besides which, the prevailing aroma of a certain Eastern drug raised in his mind the suspicion, but too well-founded, that there had been foul play.

"""Murada! Murada! Murada!" his voice resounded through the valley, and re-echoed from the hill-tops. Then the mist was cleared from his eyes, and he saw that, taking advantage of him in his sleep, the insinuating stranger had returned, drugged them both with a subtle herb, and stolen from him his only child. Then the gloom of night crept over those dreary mountains, which still resounded with the old man's plaint―

""Where, oh where is my Murada?" and echo answered "Where?"

'Bright and beautiful was the palace of the merchant prince, more especially that portion of it devoted to the ladies of the harem. Persian stuffs of exquisite colour lay in profusion on its marble floor. Curtains from Cashmere screened the too intrusive light, which, coming through the stained glass windows, shed its many-tinted tones athwart Moresque columns and cool seductive entries, where fountains played, grey doves cooed, and many-coloured parrots fought for dainty bits of rahatlakoum; everything breathing, in short, of love and luxury, save where jealous eunuchs were to be seen guarding (black sentinels as they were) the fairest flowers in that proud pasha's palace, all of whom lived only to stand in the sunshine of his smiles.

'All, did I say? No, not all; there was one who held herself aloof from the rest, repelling, with a quiet yet in its way awe-inspiring dignity, the most distant advances of her princely admirer. Indeed, the more she scorned the more he sought her, to the exclusion of all others, till at last, their envy becoming hate, the chief eunuch was consulted, with the result that she was secretly doomed by those women of the harem to death, to as they put it in those parts a cup of black coffee.

'Now, when it was known that the beautiful Murada had fallen a victim to the jealousy of her fair and frail sisters, it was determined that the news should not extend beyond the palace gates, lest the reputation of the pasha himself should be affected; yet, strange to say, it did creep out, even till it reached that far-distant village from which-now two years since -she had been stolen, during which time her poor old father, bereft of reason, had been relegated to the position of village idiot. When, however, all the details of his child's terrible end one by one fitted themselves together in his puzzled brain, the effect was startling. His vacant stare left him—all the purpose and energy of his earlier life came back to him; he had become as suddenly sane as he had, two years since, become insane. He lived again; and all those energies which had so long been dormant now concentrated with renewed force on vengeance. Nothing short of the death of that pasha could now satisfy him, and thus, armed with what weapons he could lay his hands on, he sallied forth, determined, even if it took him months to get there, to ultimately make his way to the accursed spot where Murada had breathed her last, and then and there to compass that pasha's life or perish in the effort.

'Now it so happened that when within two days' journey of Baghdad, while partaking of the pilaff supplied to him by a wayside khangee, he was accosted by a wise woman, closely yashmacked, who came from a gloomy corner of the khan in which he was; seating herself on the ground before him, she pierced him through and through with her bead-like eyes. She was a diviner, a witch, who knew at a glance the inmost secrets of his wounded heart.

""Would you satisfy your craving?" said she, with a fiendish chuckle, as she drew closer to him. "Would you punish the murderers of your child-would you cast a death-spell on the great pasha, his eunuchs and his wives, who have taken from you your beautiful Murada? Would you see Boabdil, he who supplied the poison, laid lifeless at your feet? Would you bring that proud pasha himself a suppliant for mercy before you would you, I say, enjoy all the exquisite delight of vengeance of hate, gratified? If so, then drink of the contents of this bottle. Drink, I say, to the dregs, that by its magic influence a curse may fall on her destroyers! "

'Then Hassan, with a look of supreme satisfaction, took the small vial from the sorceress, and drained it to the dregs.

'It was Kismet; revenge was his.

'Without uttering a word, the old man fell to the ground, sinking back in the corner of the khan in a state of complete collapse. Then a peculiar settled, meaningless glare came into his eyes; his cheeks grew livid, a momentary tremor, and then-then all was still. Hassan was dead; poisoned by one of Boabdil's, the chief eunuch's, agents. He had heard of his approach, and sent his hireling, the witch, to intercept and poison the heart-broken father of the murdered girl.'

There had been a pause, a thrill of excitement amongst that wild Arab audience when the story-teller finished his pathetic tale; but the sequel had yet to come.

Listen,' said he, rising to his feet; 'I have yet a few more words to say.

'Hassan awoke.

His chebouk lay by his side, his child was still sleeping soundly in the folds of his long garment.

'It was a dream. Two hours only, and not two years, had passed.

'The caravan the enamoured stranger · the powerful pasha-the jealous wives-Boabdil the eunuch, and the witch, had existed only in Hassan's fertile brain, which I,' continued the Arab story-teller, 'can at least vouch for, since I am mysel Hassan the dreamer, whose daughter Murada—thanks be to Allah-is now the sunshine of a happy home, the faithful wife of the young shepherd to whom I introduced you at the commencement of this story.'

Williams, identifying himself throughout with the manner and gesticulation of the Arab, translated the story admirably, sustaining the interest so well that its ultimate end came upon us all as a surprise.

He is not a pleasant neighbour your Arab, on a dark night, though, however fascinating he may be in other respects; so, as we were surrounded, I gave, at sundown, special orders that no communication of any sort should be opened up with the swarthy horde outside our hut. Indeed, so particular was I with reference to this, that I said it should be death to any one

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