nd the brave men and leaders are gone. It was but
last night I stood at their tent-door, looking at my noble master Amer
and his friend Khamis, and I was thinking that there never lived finer
and nobler-looking men. Ah, Arab sheikhs! where are ye now, chiefs of
Zanzibar?" Then, raising his head, he said, "Answer me, thou black,
blackest night! Answer me if ye can, oh twinkling stars! Answer me,
dark and dread silence! Shall I never see dear master again? Moto,
where dost thou think Amer is now?"

To which Moto answered: "Amer, the noblest of his tribe, the worthiest
master that ever lived, the man with the kind heart and liberal hand, is
not dead--he sleepeth."

"Sleepeth! Ah, would it were so! then this great heaviness of sorrow
within me would vanish. But what meanest thou, Moto?"

"Hast thou forgotten already the words of our noble master, the son of
Osman, how that he said to us often, a man cannot die; the body may
remain on the ground to moulder, and rot, and become dust, but the life
that was in him cannot die? Hast thou never heard him mention the word
Soul--that unseen, unfelt thing, which is as light as air, yet is the
most important part of a man? For a long time I laughed at Amer's words
in my secret heart, but when I heard all the Arabs say the same thing,
and the Nazarenes at Zanzibar say it also, I was obliged to believe,
though I could not tell what the soul was like, or who had seen it, or
if anybody had ever seen it. But now Amer's head lies low on the ground
and a cruel wound has found his kind heart, I shall keep thinking of his
words, and believe in them; and I believe truly that Amer's soul looks
down upon us through this darkness from above."

"I remember me now much the same thing," said Simba, "though my sorrow
of heart had blinded my memory. Is it not a happy thought, Moto, that
master Amer is not quite, quite dead, and that we shall see him again?"

"Yes, very happy. Thou knowest, Simba, that he cannot be dead with us
either, for we shall carry him in our memories like a valued treasure,
and will never cease talking of him when we are together."

"Ah! thou hast a good memory, Moto; but who, thinkest thou, is the
happiest--master Amer, up above there, or young master Selim, a
prisoner?"

"Oh, Simba! while I was beginning to think myself happy, thou hast made
my heart black with sorrow, by making me think of what that boy must
suffer. If it were not for his future good I wo