sive and abstracted, played with her
beads in the pavilion of her grandfather. Two of her maidens, who had
attended her, in a corner of this inner compartment, accompanied the
wild murmur of their voices on a stringed instrument, which might in the
old days have been a psaltery. They sang the loves of Antar and of Ibla,
of Leila and of Mejnoun; the romance of the desert, tales of passion and
of plunder, of the rescue of women and the capture of camels, of heroes
with a lion heart, and heroines brighter and softer than the moon.

The beautiful daughter of Besso, pensive and abstracted, played with her
beads in the pavilion of her grandfather. Why is the beautiful daughter
of Besso pensive and abstracted? What thoughts are flitting over her
mind, silent and soft, like the shadows of birds over the sunshiny
earth?

Something that was neither silent nor soft disturbed the lady from
her reverie; the voice of the great Sheikh, in a tone of altitude and
harshness, with him most usual. He was in an adjacent apartment, vowing
that he would sooner eat the mother of some third person, who was
attempting to influence him, than adopt the suggestion offered. Then
there were softer and more persuasive tones from his companion, but
evidently ineffectual. Then the voices of both rose together in emulous
clamour--one roaring like a bull, the other shrieking like some wild
bird; one full of menace, and the other taunting and impertinent. All
this was followed by a dead silence, which continuing, Eva assumed that
the Sheikh and his companion had quitted his tent. While her mind was
recurring to those thoughts which occupied them previously to this
outbreak, the voice of Fakredeen was heard outside her tent, saying,
'Rose of Sharon, let me come into the harem;' and, scarcely waiting for
permission, the young Emir, flushed and excited, entered, and almost
breathless threw himself on the divan.

'Who says I am a coward?' he exclaimed, with a glance of devilish
mockery. 'I may run away sometimes, but what of that? I have got moral
courage, the only thing worth having since the invention of gunpowder.
The beast is not killed, but I have looked into the den; 'tis something.
Courage, my fragrant Rose, have faith in me at last. I may make an
imbroglio sometimes, but, for getting out of a scrape, I would back
myself against any picaroon in the Levant; and that is saying a good
deal.'

'Another imbroglio?'

'Oh, no! the same; part of the great