e thee.

Zuleika. The darkness shall be my guide, Allah my guard; shrouded in yon
dark mantle none will deem me other than a slave. Again I ask thee, Wilt
thou go?

Hassan. I go. I were no true man to tremble when a woman fears not. I
will guide thee, and may Allah in his mercy shield us both. Say thy
prayers, Hassan, for thy head no longer rests in safety.

Zuleika. Come, let us on! The moments speed. The darkening gloom
befriends us. First to the tent of the young prince, and while I in
brief speech do acquaint him with mine errand, thou shalt keep guard
without. Then will we guide him to his father, and unto Allah leave the
rest [_shrouds herself in dark mantle and veil_]. Lead on, good Hassan.
Let us away!

Hassan. Fold thy veil closer, that none may know the daughter of
Mohammed walks thus late abroad. Come, and Allah grant we sleep not in
paradise to-morrow!

[_Exit, leading_ Zuleika.

CURTAIN.

SCENE FOURTH.

[Ion's _tent_.
Ion _chained, in an attitude of deep despair, upon
a miserable couch. He does not see the entrance
of_ Zuleika _and_ Hassan.]

Zuleika. Stand thou without as watch, good Hassan, and warn me if any
shall approach. [_Exit_ Hassan.] Young Greek, despair not; hope is nigh.

Ion [_starting up_]. Bright vision, whence comest thou? Art thou the
phantom of a dream, or some blest visitant from that better land, come
to bear me hence? What art thou?

Zuleika. I am no vision, but a mortal maiden, come to bring thee
consolation.

Ion. Consolation! ah, then indeed thou art no mortal; for unto grief
like mine there is no consolation, save that which cometh from above.

Zuleika. Nay, believe it not. Human hearts are at this moment hoping,
and human hands are striving earnestly to spare thee the agony thou dost
dread.

Ion. Are there then hearts to feel for the poor Greek? I had thought I
was alone,--alone 'mid mine enemies. Sure, those fetters are no dream,
this dark cell, the words "Thy father dies!" No, no! it is a dread
reality. The words are burned into my brain.

Zuleika. Is death, then, so dread a thing unto a warrior? I had thought
it brought him fame and glory.

Ion. Death! Oh, maiden! To the soldier on the battle-field, fighting for
his father-land 'mid the clash of arms, the fierce blows of foeme