heart, but all seemed still. The old man ominously shook his head. "Is the slave still alive?" inquired the calif, speaking for the first time since Giafar's reply to him. "I fear not, my lord," answered the hakim. "Life seems to have departed. It were well if she were taken from hence." "Let it be so," said the calif. "Whither shall she be removed, my lord ?" inquired the prince. 66 It matters not. To thine own palace, if thou wilt. Let Gabriel see to her." "It shall be done, my lord." "And listen, hakim," said the calif, recalling him "if thou canst recover her with thine art, a purse of gold shall be thine. Look to it. Fidelity is a rare virtue in these our days." They placed the lifeless form of the young girl in a litter, and she was borne to the prince's palace. Gabriel followed hastily, to lend his skill and care in restoring her, while Giasar pursued slowly his sad and solitary way towards his abode. CHAPTER XI. We watch'd her breathing through the night, As o'er her heart the waves of life Came heaving to and fro. BORNE down by grief and self-reproach, Giafar returned to his home. Life seemed a burden too heavy to endure, when laden with such horrors as had crowded thickly within the compass of a day. Art and precaution had preserved his own life, it is true, but had destroyed a lovely and innocent being; one whose devotion had interposed between himself and his master's displeasure, and had saved him from imminent peril. His own safety was of light moment to him. The sting that pressed most deeply into his soul, was the thought of that ruin which he seemed destined to pluck down upon the heads of all who interested themselves in his safety. One true heart had broken, rent asunder by his own harsh and selfish counsel, and others might follow; how soon, Allah alone could tell. Upon arriving at his own abode, he found Khatoun still lying as one dead, and the princess, who was aware of her innocence and fidelity, watching anxiously near her. He bent over her fragile and emaciated form, and gazed with anguish upon her senseless features. He had often seen them beaming with hope and joy, when a smile, a word from him, would inspire her with double life. But now those features were motionless. Now, epithets the most endearing could not move her, could not crimson her cheek, or alarm, with the soft terrors of love, her once timid and palpitating bosom. What loveliness had that deep insensibility bound up in its stern embrace. But love could not awake it, no! nor remorse nor hope. She lay pale and motionless. No breathing that was perceptible moved her bosom, or passed from her bloodless lips. Her small, white, and almost transparent hands, were cold-they responded not to the soft pressure with which they were clasped by that sad pair who were so mournfully tending her. Her features still preserved that rigidity of expression which had fallen upon them when she sank, in the calif's presence, under the ruthless sentence which he had passed upon her. Her eyes were closed, and an expression of ghastliness had settled about her mouth that was painful to behold. She looked not as the clay should look when the soul has departed in glad ness, when the sweetness of the tenant spirit still lingers about its deserted mansion, telling us that its last interchange with the body, its moment of farewell, was one of pleasure, or at least of peace. Her face wore not that mild and quiet calmness which is so looked for by the eyes of grieving friends, and which so cheers the desolation of their hearts. Giafar marked this, and the thought fearfully augmented his anguish. They watched her long. All the care of the hakim had been bestowed upon her, until he had relinquished his efforts in despair. Yet still they hung over her, stationed mute and motionless on either side of her low couch, waiting for some sign of slow-returning life. Midnight had come and gone, and their hopes were dwindling to a feeble spark within their bosoms, when the silence of the chamber was broken by a soft, yet deep and long-drawn sigh. Again all was silent. They waited in breathless expectation, gazing in hope upon her. In a few moments the same low sound was again heard. It seemed like the sad murmur of some hovering spirit echoed through the apartment. Giafar took the silver lamp, that burned dimly, and cast its flickering light upon her features. No life was seen there-no motion. Still they bend over her; a feeble heaving of the bosom is soon seen their eyes are fastened on her-and again a sigh comes faintly from her lips. Giafar tightened the slight pressure in which he detained her hand, and the princess placed to her lips a VOL. II.-N handkerchief moistened in some aromatic liquid. Aroused by this, her eyes unclosed feebly for a moment, but, without a sign of recognition, they again quickly closed. Now followed a deep sleep. During this while, Giafar and Abassa spoke not save by signs. They looked with smiling encouragement on each other, as though they had no wish beyond the recovery of the stricken Khatoun, as though they had no griefs of their own, no dangers, and no fears. Notwithstanding, however, these signs of returning life, the hands of the young slave regained not their warmth, and her delicate feet, which the care of the princess had wrapped in the softest furs, were still cold as marble. A long hour passed by, when, sighing as before, her drooping lids were heavily lifted, and she awoke slowly from her slumber. Her attention was first directed towards the hand which the princess held, by the warm pressure with which Abassa clasped it. Seeing it enclosed within another, she raised her eyes faintly, as though looking for the owner of that kind hand which so carefully embraced her own, until they rested upon the beautiful yet dimmed features that were bending so compassionately over her. She gazed in wonder, until, being sensible of the presence of some one on the opposite side of the couch, she turned her head upon the pillow, when her eyes encountered the prince. She started, as memory returned, bringing in its train the scenes in which |