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“You are agitated, you have been weeping, what is the meaning of all this?”

“Father, he has sung to me an air which has affected me deeply.”

“Ah! does he so well understand the art of moving your feelings?” asked Hussain. “Play, you Christian dog,” said he, turning to Ali, “move me, also, for once.”

“Pardon your slave, sir,” said Ali, “feelings cannot be forced; if this sweet art is to produce its effect, the mind must be favourably attuned before hand.”

“Then I suppose you understand how to effect this?” asked Hussain, looking at Ali with a searching glance.

Ali was silent.

“Are you a freed slave? Who was your master in Bagdad before?”

In answer to this Ali mentioned a name.

“You seem to me to be rather an Arab than a Frank,” said Hussain, very emphatically.

As Ali was going to reply, Hussain suddenly exclaimed, “Yes, it is he, I know the hateful countenance, I know the detestable features.” Pale with fury he put his hands to his side, but did not find his sword. “Wait a moment,” he said, with affected indifference, “I shall be here again instantly.”

Leaving the arbour hastily, he clapped his hands to summon a slave; but none appearing, he hurried to the house. Ali and Gulhyndi were now in the utmost despair.

“Come, my beloved,” she said, as she embraced Ali, “only through the heart of his daughter shall his sword find its way to yours.”

“That would not be a very strong shield,” cried a hoarse voice, from the wall; “come, master, save your life, and own the fidelity of your servant.”

Ali cast his eyes upwards and saw Lockman sitting astride on the wall, with a rope ladder which he quickly lowered. He embraced his beloved, and availed himself of this mode of rescue, which came as if sent by Heaven. He was soon on the other side of the wall with Lockman, who, with singular speed, took him round the corner and concealed him in a thick hedge. As soon as night came on he hastened home, attended by Lockman, and thanked him for his marked fidelity and his intrepid courage.

The first thing he now did was to speak to his father and confide his secret to him. He said, at length, “As you love your son, conquer your hatred against Hussain, go with me to him, solicit the hand of his daughter for me, and offer your hand to him in reconciliation.”

“Is this possible, my son?” said Ibrahim. “Can love so far carry you away that it makes you forget what you owe to your father? You ask of me to degrade myself for the sake of your passion?”

“Is it degrading to reconcile oneself with one’s enemy?” asked Ali.

“I did once make a step towards a reconciliation,” replied Ibrahim, “which was contemptuously spurned, and I have sworn by the Omnipotent Allah that as sure as the gold cloth was torn, so surely shall Hussain be for ever torn from my heart. Compose yourself, my son, conquer your passion; there are pretty girls enough in Bagdad besides her. I am rich and can buy the most beautiful slaves for you; but never think of an alliance with the blood of Hussain; it would be an union against nature, and the day of your union would be the day of your father’s death.”

All the entreaties and persuasions of Ali were of no avail with his father; the otherwise mild Ibrahim was incensed against his son to a degree that had never been known before, and, turning his back upon him, he said, “Be silent and forget your folly if you do not wish, me to curse the moment in which your mother brought you into the world. He who loves Hussain’s daughter cannot love me, and I must look upon him as an enemy who intends evil against me.”

Ali was now left alone in despair. Soon, however, Lockman made his appearance, and asked him, “Why are you so dejected?”