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The sheik, All Banu, was lost in deep thought over this story, which had carried him along on the current of its events. His breast swelled, his eye sparkled, and he was often on the point of interrupting his young slave; but the end of the story disappointed him.

“He would be about twenty-one years old, you said?” began the sheik.

“Sire, he is of my age, from twenty-one to twenty-two years old.”

“And what did he call the name of his native city? You did not tell us that.”

“If I am not mistaken, it was Alessandria!”

“Alessandria!” cried the sheik. “It was my son! Where is he living? Did you not say that he was called Kairam? Has he dark eyes and brown hair?”

“He has, and in confidential moods he called himself Kairam, and not Almansor.”

“But, Allah! Allah! Yet, tell me: his father bought him before your eyes, you said. Did he say it was his father? Is he not my son!”

The slave answered: “He said to me: ‘Allah be praised; after so long a period of misfortune, there is the market-place of my native city.’ After a while, a distinguished-looking man came around the corner, at whose appearance Almansor cried: ‘Oh, what a blessed gift of heaven are one’s eyes! I see once more my revered father!’ The man walked up to us, examined this and that one, and finally bought him to whom all this had happened; whereupon he praised Allah, and whispered to me. ‘Now I shall return to the halls of fortune; it is my own father that has bought me.'”

“Then it was not my son, my Kairam!” exclaimed the sheik in a tone of anguish.

The young slave could no longer restrain himself. Tears of joy sprang into his eyes; he prostrated himself before the sheik, and said: “And yet it is your son, Kairam Almansor; for you are the one who bought him!”

“Allah! Allah! A wonder, a miracle!” cried those present, as they crowded closer. But the sheik stood speechless, staring at the young man, who turned his handsome face up to him. “My friend Mustapha!” said the sheik at last to the old man, “before my eyes hangs a veil of tears so that I cannot see whether the features of his mother, which my Kairam bare, are graven on the face of this young man. Come closer and look at him!”

The old dervish stepped up, examined the features of the young man carefully, and laying his hand on the forehead of the youth, said: “Kairam, what was the proverb I taught you on that sad day in the camp of the Franks?”

“My dear master!” answered the young man, as he drew the hand of the dervish to his lips, “it ran thus: So that one loves Allah, and has a clear conscience, he will not be alone in the wilderness of woe, but will have two companions to comfort him constantly at his side. “

The old man raised his eyes gratefully to heaven, drew the young man to his breast, and then gave him to the sheik, saying: “Take him to your bosom; as surely as you have sorrowed for him these ten years, so surely is he your son!”

The sheik was beside himself with joy; he scanned the features of his newly-found son again and again, until he found there the unmistakable picture of his boy as he was before he had lost him. And all present shared in his joy, for they loved the sheik, and to each one of them it was as if a son had that day been sent to him.

Now once more did music and song fill these halls, as in the days of fortune and of joy. Once more must the young man tell his story, and all were loud in their praises of the Arabic professor, and the emperor, and all who had been kind to Kairam. They sat together until far into the night; and when the assembly broke up, the sheik presented each one with valuable gifts that they might never forget this day of joy.

But the four young men, he introduced to his son, and invited them to be his constant companions; and it was arranged that the son should read with the young writer, make short journeys with the painter, that the merchant should share in his songs and dances, and the other young man should arrange all the entertainments. They too received presents, and left the house of the sheik with light hearts.

“Whom have we to thank for all this?” said they to one another; “whom but the old man? Who could have foreseen all this, when we stood before this house and declaimed against the sheik?”

“And how easily we might have been led into turning a deaf ear to the discourses of the old man, or even into making sport of him? For he looked so ragged and poor, who would have suspected that he was the wise Mustapha?”

“And–wonderful coincidence–was it not here that we gave expression to our wishes?” said the writer. “One would travel, another see singing and dancing, the third have good company, and I—-read and hear stories; and are not all our wishes fulfilled? May I not read all the sheik’s books, and buy as many more as I choose?”

“And may not I arrange the banquets and superintend all his entertainments, and be present at them myself?” said the other.

“And I, whenever my heart is desirous of hearing songs and stringed instruments, may I not go and ask for his slaves?”

“And I,” cried the painter; “until to-day I was poor, and could not set foot outside the town; and now I can travel where I choose.”

“Yes,” repeated they all, “it was fortunate that we accompanied the old man, else who knows what would have become of us?”

So they spoke and went cheerful and happy to their homes.