pronounced
in good health, when Thiuli called out the name "Fatima," as the
seventh, and a small white hand slipped through the wall. Trembling
with joy, Mustapha seized this hand and declared with an important air,
that Fatima was seriously sick. Thiuli became very anxious, and ordered
his wise Chakamankabudibaba to prepare at once some medicine for her.
The physician went out of the room, and wrote on a small piece of
paper:

"Fatima! I will save you, if you have the strength of will to take a
medicine that will deprive you of life for two days; still I possess a
remedy that will restore you to life again. If you are willing to do
this, speak these words: 'The medicine did not help me any,' and I
shall take it as a sign of your assent."

Mustapha returned to the room where Thiuli was awaiting him. He brought
with him a harmless drink, felt of Fatima's pulse once more, at the
same time tucking the note under her bracelet, and passed the drink
through the opening in the wall. Thiuli seemed to be very anxious about
Fatima, and put off the examination of the rest until a more favorable
opportunity. As he left the room with Mustapha, he said, in a sad tone:
"Chidababa, tell me the exact truth; what is your opinion of Fatima's
sickness?" Chakamankabudibaba replied with a deep sigh: "Oh Master! may
the good Prophet send you consolation; she has a stealthy fever that
may end her life." At this reply Thiuli's anger flamed up. "What's that
you say, you cursed dog of a doctor! Do you mean to say that she, for
whom I paid two thousand pieces of gold, will die on my hands like a
cow? Know, then, that if you do not save her, I will take your head
off!"

My brother at once saw that he had made a stupid mistake, so he
hastened to assure Thiuli there was still hope for Fatima. While they
were speaking together, a black slave came from the seraglio to say to
the physician that _the drink did not help her any_. "Put forth all
your art, Chakamdababelda, or whatever you call yourself, and I will
pay you whatever you ask," exclaimed Thiuli-Kos, wild with anxiety at
the prospect of losing so much money. "I will give her a little
decoction that will save her from danger," answered the physician.
"Yes! by all means, give her the medicine," cried old Thiuli.

Mustapha, in high spirits, went to fetch the sleeping potion, and after
handing it to the slave, with instructions as to the quantity to be
taken, he returned to Thiuli, and told hi