next day, wrote him
a letter, which she entrusted to an old woman who had access to
the palace, to convey to him.

The old woman watched her opportunity to put it into his hands as
he was coming from the council-chamber, where he presided that
day in his turn. The prince took it, and reading it, fell into
such a rage, that, without giving himself time to finish it, he
drew his sabre and punished the old woman as she deserved. He ran
immediately to the apartment of his mother queen Haiatalnefous,
with the letter in his hand: he would have shewn it to her, but
she did not give him time, crying out, "I know what you mean; you
are as impertinent as your brother Amgiad: be gone, and never
come into my presence again."

Assad stood as one thunder-struck at these words, so little
expected. He was so enraged, that he had like to have given fatal
demonstrations of his anger; but he contained himself, and
withdrew without making any reply, fearing if he stayed he might
say something unworthy the greatness of his soul. Amgiad had not
mentioned to him the letter which he had received the preceding
day; and finding by what his mother had said to him that she was
altogether as criminal as queen Haiatalnefous, he went to his
brother, to chide him for not communicating the hated secret to
him, and to mingle his own sorrow with his.

The two queens, rendered desperate by finding in the two princes
such virtue as should have made them look inwardly on themselves,
renounced all sentiments of nature and of mothers and conspired
together to destroy them. They made their women believe the two
princes had attempted their virtue: they counterfeited the matter
to the life by their tears, cries, and curses; and lay in the
same bed, as if the resistance they pretended to have made had
reduced them almost to death's-door.

When Kummir al Zummaun returned to the palace from hunting, he
was much surprised to find them in bed together, in tears, acting
despondency so well, that he was touched with compassion. He
asked them with earnestness what had happened to them.

At this question, the dissembling queens wept and sobbed more
bitterly than before; and after he had pressed them again and
again to tell him, queen Badoura at last answered him: "Sir, our
grief is so well founded, that we ought not to see the light of
the sun, or live a day, after the violence that has been offered
us by the unparalleled brutality of the princes your sons. They