dark mantle of my mysterious art, it will go hard if I do not evade his scrutiny. Farewell!-peace be with thee! Remain assured my promise shall not fail."

"I am satisfied that it will not," said Abassa. "Thou hast dealt compassionately with me, and though thy counsel has been in part unthinking, and somewhat harsh, yet it was kindly meant, and I thank thee."

"Doubt it not-doubt it not!" replied the hakim. "Heaven's blessing be upon thee."

Having thus spoken, after the customary salutation, the kind-hearted Gabriel withdrew.

CHAPTER IX.

I will despair, and be at enmity with cozening hope.

Richard II.

WITH a trembling and weary spirit Giafar returned from the calif's palace to his own home. His fortitude and self-possession had well availed him in his interview with the Commander of the Faithful, but they had been severely tested. The terrific trial had depressed his courage, and had exhausted his powers of endurance. Mind and body were equally harassed, and it was in a con

dition every way unfit for such a crisis, that he found himself in the presence of the princess, to learn from her lips the result of an interview upon which depended life, happiness, everything. He had entered the chamber unheard, and stood for some moments by her side ere she perceived him. Her face was buried in her robe, but the sobs which were breaking in frequent succession from her bosom, confirmed his worst fears. "All is known!" exclaimed Abassa, as soon as she was aware of his presence; and throwing herself upon his bosom, she fastened her arms about his neck, weeping bitterly, and through a strange weakness, tears were dropping down the cheeks of the proud Moslem.

After a few moments the princess subdued her emotion, and at Giafar's request related the particulars of her interview with Gabriel the physician. To this account he listened with earnestness. Life hung upon her lips. He trembled as he heard 'twas as he had feared, and now there was no hope. His interest deepened, however, as she proceeded, until she spoke of that counsel which the hakim had given her, and of his assurance of their safety if it were followed; when he seemed to drink in the words as they fell from her lips. A shade of disappointment passed across his brow, as she recounted her refusal of the old man's advice-yet it was momentary-by an instantaneous, though visible effort, he banished it from his countenance. A smile of triumph played about

his mouth-his eye kindled as she related the strange tale respecting the dead Hassan-that snare, at least, had been shunned. But this feeling of exultation vanished quickly, and when she had concluded, he exclaimed, in accents of despair, "It is so, then !—nothing can save us now- -there

is no hope !"

"How sayst thou, dearest Giafar?" answered the princess. "Is there none? The promise of the hakim-his pledge of secrecy and concealment-"

"Put no trust in it," he replied. "His courage is not equal to his kindness, and the calif would tear the secret from his bosom, were it locked by thrice his cunning."

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"Thou art strangely moved," said Abassa. Thy brow is damp, and thy cheek pale. The emotions that disturb thy mind so fearfully, preclude, perhaps, the cool and even exercise of thy judgment. Let it not be thus, my lord. Recall thy fortitude-bring back thy firmness and thy hope, which seem so suddenly to have deserted thee."

""Tis as thou sayst, Abassa," returned the prince: "hope and courage have departed from me. Yet wonder not-I have endured that today which must have crushed them, had all my nerves been steel. My judgment likewise may have suffered in the conflict; yet little art is necessary to know that the purpose of the hakim will not avail us in our present peril. Buried in his

books, and unused to the rude contact of a jarring world, even if he has the craft, he wants the fortitude which might bear him through the trial. There was a way—but it matters not-thou hast rejected it."

Abassa seemed not to notice the concluding words of the prince's reply, but answered, "Thou canst not tell, Giafar. If the spirit of a brave and skilful man is at times shaken and borne to earth, so, thou well knowest, is the courage of the peaceful hakim-ay, of a very woman, often exalted to a level even with that of the bravest. For the truth of Gabriel, I would answer with my life, and for his firmness-"

"Thou needst not speak of it," interrupted the prince. “Cast a bulrush into the swift Tigris, and if that feeble obstacle can arrest the current of the stream, then will the firmness of Gabriel Bact Jeschoua effectually oppose thy father's anger. I tell thee, my dearest life, within this hour I have stood in the calif's presence, armed with all the constancy that I could assume-and thou well knowest there are few that can compete with me in this. I have spoken falsehood with a face unmoved and innocent. Yet all has been wellnigh in vain. Confession has been upon my lips, and the thoughts of thy safety have alone repressed its utterance. Had mine own worthless life been all that was at stake, I should have yielded it. Twice has thy father's cimeter been lifted over my head, and as often has his hand been disarmed by my unvary

ing composure. Thinkest thou that the mild Gabriel-the peaceful and unskilled hakim, can endure such scrutiny?”

"I fear it is as thou sayst," replied the princess, trembling, as she saw those hopes removed which, but a moment since, had filled her bosom with encouragement. What, then, is left us?"

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Nothing but despair," was the reply; and they were then silent for a moment, the princess weeping in his arms, and Giafar shaken by agitation that he had not the power to control. At last he spoke, looking upon her in deep anguish, and in a voice that emotion rendered weak and faltering. "My best beloved Abassa, from me have come thy sorrows. By my rashness art thou plunged into this misery. Why art thou so meek? Upbraid me— reproach me as the author of thy ruin, and I will bear it better. Yet, dearest, I swear by our misfortunes, that I have erred through love alone. Pride and ambition have had no part in this our fate; and were it not for thy sufferings, and the destruction of those as innocent as thyself, I would not murmur-perhaps I should not regret. But I cannot think, without self-reproach and horror, upon the fate of all that is most dear to me. Thou wouldst shudder hadst thou heard, as I did, the cruel threat which fell from thy father's lips today. My life-the lives of all my race, must be sacrificed. Even thou, mine own beloved! thy youth, thy loveliness and worth will not save thee —solitary imprisonment-perhaps death itself!"

VOL. II.--L