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shut in. They carried them provisions, but durst not stay to comfort them, for fear of being discovered, and punished for disobeying the caliph’s orders.

In the mean time king Zinebi had let fly a pigeon to give the caliph an account of his exact obedience. He informed him of all that had been executed, and conjured him to direct what he would have done with Ganem’s mother and sister. He soon received the caliph’s answer in the same way, which was, that he should banish them from Damascus for ever. Immediately the king of Syria sent men to the old house, with orders to take the mother and daughter, and to conduct them three days’ journey from Damascus, and there to leave them, forbidding them ever to return to the city.

Zinebi’s men executed their commission, but being less exact their master, in the strict performance of the caliph’s orders, they in pity gave the wretched ladies some small pieces of money, and each of them a scrip, which they hung about their necks, to carry their provisions.

In this miserable state they came to the first village. The peasants’ wives flocked about them, and, as it appeared through their disguise that they were people of some condition, asked them what was the occasion of their travelling in a habit that did not seem to belong to them. Instead of answering the question, they fell to weeping, which only served to heighten the curiosity of the peasants, and to move their compassion. Ganem’s mother told them what she and her daughter had endured; at which the good countrywomen were sensibly afflicted, and endeavoured to comfort them. They treated them as well as their poverty would permit, took off their horse-hair shifts, which were very uneasy to them, and put on them others which they gave them, with shoes, and something to cover their heads, and save their hair.

Having expressed their gratitude to those charitable women, Jalib al Koolloob and her mother departed from that village, taking short journeys towards Aleppo. They used at dusk to retire near or into the mosques, where they passed the night on the mat, if there was any, or else on the bare pavement; and sometimes rested in the public places appointed for the use of travellers. As for sustenance, they did not want, for they often came to places where bread, boiled rice, and other provisions are distributed to all travellers who desire it.

At length they came to Aleppo, but would not stay there, and continuing their journey towards the Euphrates, crossed the river, and entered Mesopotamia, which they traversed as far as Moussoul. Thence, notwithstanding all they had endured, they proceeded to Bagdad. That was the place they had fixed their thoughts upon, hoping to find Ganem, though they ought not to have fancied that he was in a city where the caliph resided; but they hoped, because they wished it; their affection for him increasing instead of diminishing, with their misfortunes. Their conversation was generally about him, and they inquired for him of all they met. But let us leave Jalib al Koolloob and her mother, and return to Fetnah.

She was still confined closely in the dark tower, since the day that had been so fatal to Ganem and herself. However, disagreeable as her prison was to her, it was much less grievous than the thoughts of Ganem’s misfortune, the uncertainty of whose fate was a killing affliction. There was scarcely a moment in which she did not lament him.

The caliph was accustomed to walk frequently at night within the enclosure of his palace, for he was the most inquisitive prince in the world, and sometimes, by those night-walks, came to the knowledge of things that happened in his court, which would otherwise never have reached his ear. One of those nights, in his walk, he happened to pass by the dark tower, and fancying he heard somebody talk, stops, and drawing near the door to listen, distinctly heard these words, which Fetnah, whose thoughts were always on Ganem, uttered with a loud voice: “O Ganem, too unfortunate Ganem! where are you at this time, whither has thy cruel fate led thee? Alas! it is I that have made you wretched!

why did you not let me perish miserably, rather than afford me your generous relief? What melancholy return have you received for your care and respect? The commander of the faithful, who ought to have rewarded, persecutes you; and in requital for having always regarded me as a person reserved for his bed, you lose your fortune, and are obliged to seek for safety in flight.

O caliph, barbarous caliph, how can you exculpate yourself, when you shall appear with Ganem before the tribunal of the Supreme Judge, and the angels shall testify the truth before your face?

All the power you are now invested with, and which makes almost the whole world tremble, will not prevent your being condemned and punished for your violent and unjust proceedings.” Here Fetnah ceased her complaints, her sighs and tears putting a stop to her utterance.

This was enough to make the caliph reflect. He plainly perceived, that if what he had heard was true, his favourite must be innocent, and that he had been too hasty in giving such orders against Ganem and his family. Being resolved to be rightly informed in an affair which so nearly concerned him in point of equity, on which he valued himself, he immediately returned to his apartment, and that moment ordered Mesrour to repair to the dark tower, and bring Fetnah before him.

By this command, and much more by the caliph’s manner of speaking, the chief of the eunuchs guessed that his master designed to pardon his favourite, and take her to him again. He was overjoyed at the thought, for he respected Fetnah, and had been much concerned at her disgrace; therefore flying instantly to the tower, “Madam,” said he to the favourite, with such an air as expressed his satisfaction, “be pleased to follow me; I hope you will never more return to this melancholy abode: the commander of the faithful wishes to speak with you, and I draw from this a happy omen.”

Fetnah followed Mesrour, who conducted her into the caliph’s closet. She prostrated herself before him, and so continued, her face bathed in tears. “Fetnah,” said the caliph, without bidding her rise, “I think you charge me with violence and injustice. Who is he, that, notwithstanding the regard and respell he had for me, is in a miserable condition? Speak freely, you know the natural goodness of my disposition, and that I love to do justice.”

By these words the favourite was convinced that the caliph had heard what she had said, and availed herself of so favourable an opportunity to clear Ganem. “Commander of the true believers,”

said she, “if I have let fall any word that is not agreeable to your majesty, I most humbly beseech you to forgive me; but he whose innocence and wretched state you desire to be informed of is Ganem, the unhappy son of Abou Ayoub, late a rich merchant of Damascus. He saved my life from a grave, and afforded me a sanctuary in his house. I must own, that, from the first moment he saw me, he perhaps designed to devote himself to me, and conceived hopes of engaging me to admit his love. I guessed at this, by the eagerness which he shewed in entertaining me, and doing me all the good offices I so much wanted under the circumstances I was then in; but as soon as he heard that I had the honour to belong to you, �Ah, madam,’ said he, �that which belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.’ From that moment, I owe this justice to his virtue to declare, his behaviour was always suitable to his words. You, commander of the true believers, well know with what rigour you have treated him, and you will answer for it before the tribunal of God.”

The caliph was not displeased with Fetnah for the freedom of these words; “But may I,” said he, “rely on the assurance you give me of Ganem’s virtue?” “Yes,” replied Fetnah, “you may. I would not for the world conceal the truth from you; and to prove to you that I am sincere, I must make a confession, which perhaps may displease you, but I beg pardon of your majesty beforehand.”

“Speak, daughter,” said Haroon al Rusheed, “I forgive you all, provided you conceal nothing from me.” “Well, then,” replied Fetnah, “let me inform you, that Ganem’s respectful behaviour, joined to all the good offices he did me, gained him my esteem. I went further yet: you know the tyranny of love: I felt some tender inclination rising in my breast. He perceived it; but far from availing himself of my frailty, and notwithstanding the flame which consumed him, he still remained steady in his duty, and all that his passion could force from him were the words I have already repeated to your majesty, �That which belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.’”

This ingenuous confession might have provoked any other man than the caliph; but it completely appeased that prince. He commanded her to rise, and making her sit by him, “Tell me your story,”

said he, “from the beginning to the end.” She did so, with artless simplicity, passing slightly over what regarded Zobeide, and enlarging on the obligations she owed to Ganem; but above all, she highly extolled his discretion, endeavouring by that means to make the caliph sensible that she had been under the necessity of remaining concealed in Ganem’s house, to deceive Zobeide. She concluded with the young merchant’s escape, which she plainly told the caliph she had compelled him to, that he might avoid his indignation.

When she had done speaking, the caliph said to her, “I believe all you have told me; but why was it so long before you let me hear from you? Was there any need of staying a whole month after my return, before you sent me word where you were?” “Commander of the true believers,” answered Fetnah, “Ganem went abroad so very seldom, that you need not wonder we were not the first that heard of your return. Besides, Ganem, who took upon him to deliver the letter I wrote to Nouron Nihar, was a long time before he could find an opportunity of putting it into her own hands.”

“It is enough, Fetnah,” replied the caliph; “I acknowledge my fault, and would willingly make amends for it, by heaping favours on the young merchant of Damascus. Consider, therefore, what I can do for him. Ask what you think fit, and I will grant it.”

Hereupon the favourite fell down at the caliph’s feet, with her face to the ground; and rising again, said, “Commander of the true believers, after returning your majesty thanks for Ganem, I most humbly entreat you to cause it to be published throughout your do minions, that you pardon the son of Abou Ayoub, and that he may safely come to you.” “I must do more,” rejoined the prince, “in requital for having saved your life, and the respect he has strewn for me, to make amends for the loss of his fortune.

In short, to repair the wrong I have done to himself and his family, I give him to you for a husband.” Fetnah had no words expressive enough to thank the caliph for his generosity: she then withdrew into the apartment she had occupied before her melancholy adventure. The same furniture was still in it, nothing had been removed; but that which pleased her most was, to find Ganem’s chests and bales, which Mesrour had received the caliph’s orders to convey thither.

The next day Haroon al Rusheed ordered the grand vizier,