camels
for and accord protection to the fugitives.

The minutes seemed like days, the hours like years, until the
announcement was heralded that Ibrahim Chan had sallied forth with his
guests to the prize combat, and that the ladies awaited the minstrels.
They were assembled on the housetop, lovely matrons and maidens, and
there was spread a large carpet on which set two players on the _sass_
and _tshengir_, between whom each singer in turn took his place to
sing his offering to the sound of strings. The handsomest boy
in Gjaendsha was appointed to hand to each singer a silver plate,
wherewith to conceal from the eye of beauty the emotions depicted in
his countenance while singing. Twenty singers stood in a circle and
stepped forth one after the other, Mirza-Schaffy, as the youngest
of the number, coming last. All other emanations he felt to be
faint sparks in comparison with the fire of his own. How could it be
otherwise, considering the source of his inspiration? As he sang his
heart swelled with ecstasy, and when he concluded there lay at his
feet a full-blown rose. He was victor of the festival, yet so filled
was he with thoughts of his beloved that he remembered not to break
the instruments of the vanquished.

The flight was effected; the bride, although awaiting the coming of
the bridegroom in bridal array, offering all due resistance as he led
her from her home; indeed, so zealous was she to be faithful to the
customs of her country that her cries would have roused the household
had not the prudent Fatima interposed. On reaching the caravan a
double security seemed to arise from the Armenian proving to be
the accepted lover of Fatima; and Zuleikha, although deeming it a
degradation for a daughter of Ali to unite her destinies with an
unbeliever, was herself too strongly in the bondage of love to
withhold her consent. Then how happy were they all! and what
precautions were taken for their safety! Nevertheless, they were
overtaken by the angry father and the outraged suitor of his choice.
Zuleikha and Fatima were rudely snatched from the protection of their
lovers, and the learned scribe--we blush to write it--received on the
very soles which had borne him to the summit of bliss the ignominious
blows of the bastinado.

From that day Mirza-Schaffy had felt indisposed to bestow his
affections on mortal woman, and since the sun of his hopes had set
dwelt serenely in the moonlight of remembrance. As Zuleikha, the