bining to work my ruin. But into the hands of the Merciful One do I resign myself!" Much pondering in nowise diminished the wonder of Giafar at an event so strange. All was inexplicable mystery; and time, in passing, afforded no clew to its solution. Many within the walls of the palace noted the sudden disappearance of Hassan, but in the deportment of no one was seen aught to arouse suspicion, as to the instruments of the secret removal of his body. To the watchful eye of the prince nothing was betrayed that served to lessen his astonishment or perplexity. The inmates of the harem have also lost a companion. The place of Khatoun is vacant. She comes no more to pluck the bright flowers-to revel in the bath—to bring in sportive rivalry her favourite birds to outvie those of her companions. She listens no more with them when tales of love or wonder are read by the sweet-voiced slaves. Her joyous tones are no longer heard echoing through those gay chambers, or swelling in sad harmony above the chords of her feebly sounded lute. Where is she? They ask each other, where ? They look up to the highest and gloomiest towers of the palace, seeking some token that she is still in life. They think often of her as they thread the mazes of the garden, fearful lest they may tread upon her tomb. They hang inquiringly over the river's brink, gazing with awe into its depths; for there, they whisper to each other, may be her grave. But the stream is voiceless; or if it mur VOL. II.-D murs, it is full sadly. It seems a dirge that rises from its waves. The thoughts of a fearful, secret fate trouble their fancies, and they weep, they tremble, and resolve. Love, they whisper to their hearts, though it may make a paradise of earth, cannot burn beneath the waves. The sullen stream runs swiftly to the ocean, unruffled by the sigh of beauty, though it be her last; the heaving of the fairest bosom creates not a ripple in those waters, which hold it a prisoner within their depths. CHAPTER V. The moment comes Collect each thought, each power, for one brief struggle. Old Play. SUMMER passed away, and returning winter found the prince and princess again in Bagdad. The occurrences related in the preceding chapter had been almost forgotten; no clew had been found to the disappearance of Hassan's body, and the anxiety of the prince gradually diminished, when, as the months rolled by, he saw no evils falling, or threatening to fall upon them, as results of that strange event. The danger to which they had been exposed by the jealousy of Khatoun, and the treachery of her accomplice, had been averted by his promptness. All means that might lead to the discovery of their disobedience seem removed, and careful of their happiness, though they surrender themselves to joy and love, yet it is with a more prudent and constrained affection. They tremble as they look back upon the precipice which they have so narrowly escaped; they still walk along its brink-they cannot leave the danger-yet their steps are more wary and circumspect, for prudence, hand in hand with love, (rare union,) is guiding them upon their way. Yet In this security, however, the prince is not always at his ease; at times an undefinable sense of dread weighs upon his soul. Something-he knows not what-a vague foreboding, a sound, a vision, tells him that misfortune is at hand. 'tis but rarely that his mind is thus affected; and even when most deeply influenced by his fears, a look, a smile from her dispels his gloom. So the sun drives along the mists of the morning, and the shadows that darken successively upon the plain, proclaim his power and his brightness as they pass. He has not made his wife a partner in his anxiety. She is ignorant of the disappearance of the dead slave-the origin-the cause of all his fears. Still she is sad. Her step is languid; her eye sunken. Her cheek loses daily a portion of its colour, and Care is marking with his finger his traces upon her sweet face. She seems like one whose bosom is oppressed with some cause for melancholy-secret, deep, hidden. Yet can this be? Giafar is often happy when she is most sad; and what cloud can darken upon her soul, and not enwrap him in the selfsame gloom? Or is it the very perfection and poignancy of her happiness which is wearing thus upon her frame, as an Indian sabre is said from the excellence of its temper to eat the scabbard which encloses it? Ah! there is a secret- —a little secret-'tis told in a word, a breath, a look, and is understood as soon. "Tis known! Giafar glances for an instant at her beloved form, and then clasps her tenderly to his bosom, while he presses upon her lips a kiss-a kiss, in richness and in luxury unequalled, save by the first which he imprinted upon her virgin lips. "It is so, then ?" he said. "I have been strangely blind,” and again he repeated his caresses. "Yet be not sad, my life. Droop notyield not to sorrow at its mere menace. Wait, ere thou grievest, until it comes upon us." "Now that "How selfish am I!" she replied. you participate in my grief, it is robbed of half its bitterness. I would have kept this from you, for I would not render you unhappy; but soon-" "Unhappy!" interrupted the prince; "say not So. The avowal which has fallen from thy lips renders me insensible to the future. I know not"- here his speech was interrupted by frequent kisses "I know not that I felt more delight at the moment when thou didst first listen to my love, than now to hear what thou hast told me. There are joys whose power cannot be lessened by the prospect, nay, even by the certainty of future misery." Notwithstanding this earnest asseveration, the prince, as he ponders upon the dangers which threaten them, becomes thoughtful and silent. It is true his face does not exhibit that care and dread that are visible in the countenance of his wife. Its expression is calm and meditative, and, save that his brow is closely knit, is unruffled by emotion; yet, were the extremity of sorrow to come upon them, it may be questioned whether he would endure its bitterness with as much fortitude as the helpless being at his side. He walks the apartment, pondering upon the means that remain to avoid his master's displeasure, pausing at each turn to bless and embrace his wife for the pleasing yet perilous knowledge which she has disclosed to him. "Why is it thus ?" he said; "why are our very pleasures born in danger?—that we cannot rejoice over their possession, lest their very existence should deprive us of them. Shall we be ever thus unfortunate? Yet I am ashamed, my life, to complain of Heaven's unkindness after having known thee. No! let the worst come. I am prepared for it. I will cling to past happiness as to a rock, and the fiercest tempest shall not shake me from it. But thou, mine own, my |