not trample on the fallen;'
and Fakredeen took her hand and bedewed it with his tears.

'Dear Fakredeen,' said Eva, 'I thought you spoke in jest, as I did.'

'How can a man jest, who has to go through what I endure!' said the
young Emir, in a desponding tone, and still lying at her feet. 'O, my
more than sister, 'tis hell! The object I propose to myself would, with
the greatest resources, be difficult; and now I have none.'

'Relinquish it.'

'When I am young and ruined! When I have the two greatest stimulants in
the world to action, Youth and Debt! No; such a combination is never to
be thrown away. Any young prince ought to win the Lebanon, but a young
prince in debt ought to conquer the world!' and the Emir sprang from the
floor, and began walking about the apartment.

'I think, Eva,' he said, after a moment's pause, and speaking in his
usual tone, 'I think you really might do something with your father; I
look upon myself as his son; he saved my life. And I am a Hebrew; I
was nourished by your mother's breast, her being flows in my veins;
and independent of all that, my ancestor was the standard-bearer of the
Prophet, and the Prophet was the descendant of Ishmael, and Ishmael
and Israel were brothers. I really think, between my undoubted Arabian
origin and being your foster-brother, that I may be looked upon as a
Jew, and that your father might do something for me.'

'Whatever my father will do, you and he must decide together,' said Eva;
'after the result of my last interference, I promised my father that I
never would speak to him on your affairs again; and you know, therefore,
that I cannot. You ought not to urge me, Fakredeen.'

'Ah! you are angry with me,' he exclaimed, and again seated himself
at her feet. 'You were saying in your heart, he is the most selfish of
beings. It is true, I am. But I have glorious aspirations at least. I am
not content to live like my fathers in a beautiful palace, amid my woods
and mountains, with Kochlani steeds, falcons that would pull down an
eagle, and nargilehs of rubies and emeralds. I want something more than
troops of beautiful slaves, music and dances. I want Europe to talk of
me. I am wearied of hearing nothing but Ibrahim Pasha, Louis Philippe,
and Palmerston. I, too, can make combinations; and I am of a better
family than all three, for Ibrahim is a child of mud, a Bourbon is not
equal to a Shehaab, and Lord Palmerston only sits in the Queen's
second chamber of c