e festival, transgresses it
grossly, is accused, and finally conducted into the immediate presence
of Smaragdine, who puts to him the usual questions.

"My name," replies the stranger, "is Resim, and I am a poor dervish."

"Bring my _Romla_ tablet and my steel pen," cries the King.

They do as they are bid: Smaragdine casts her eyes upwards, preserves
for a moment the usual silence, and exclaims, "Thou liest, dog! thy
name is Beschadeddin; outwardly thou art a Moslem, but in heart an
unbeliever: confess the verity, or thou diest."

It was no one but Beschadeddin. Like the robber, he had, after the
loss of the beautiful slave, set out upon his travels in the hope of
finding her again, and his ill fortune had conducted him to the same
city. Full of dismay, he was constrained to confess the truth, and his
head figured forthwith beside those of his brother adventurers. The
feast proceeded with redoubled jollity, and louder than ever were the
sagacity and justice of the Sultan extolled. Smaragdine alone took no
part in the general merriment.

It was the first morning of the fourth moon, as the people were
congregated together for the usual festival, when there appeared, at
one of the doors of the amphitheatre, a young man, beautiful as the
day, but having the lustre of his complexion dimmed by the cloud of
long afflictions. It was Alischar, and Smaragdine had nigh swooned
away with the joy of beholding him.

After he awoke in the street without his turban, and learnt from the
old woman what had happened, and that his dear Smaragdine had indeed
vanished, though not in his company, his spirit was yielded up as a
prey to the bitterest anguish. A sore illness fell upon him, and for a
whole year he had lain helpless, nursed carefully by the good old
woman. But as soon as he began to recover a little strength, he set
out a-wandering though the world, if perchance he might yet once again
find his wife. It happened that he came on the morning of this
feast-day to the city where she was King, and, being unacquainted with
the regulations of the amphitheatre, he fell into a mistake similar to
that which had already proved fatal to so many travellers. He was,
like them, accused and summoned to the Prince's footstool. He knelt
down reverently, and kissed the dust before her; and being asked what
was his name and his business, made answer, without hesitation,

"My name is Alischar, and I am come hither, wandering over the whole
ea