regain your freedom.'

"At this proposal, scorn and shame flashed from the kindling eye of
Hamet, and passion for a considerable time deprived him of the power of
utterance; at length he lifted his arm as high as his chains would
permit, and cried, with an indignant tone, 'Mighty prophet! and are
these the wretches to whom you permit your faithful votaries to be
enslaved! Go, base Christian, and know that Hamet would not stoop to
the vile trade of an assassin for all the wealth of Venice! no! not to
purchase the freedom of all his race!'

"At these words the merchant, without seeming much abashed, told him he
was sorry he had offended him; but that he thought freedom had been
dearer to him than he found it was. 'However,' added he, as he turned
his back, 'you will reflect upon my proposal, and perhaps by to-morrow
you may change your mind.' Hamet disdained to answer; and the merchant
went his way.

"The next day, however, he returned in company with his son, and mildly
accosted Hamet thus: 'The abruptness of the proposal I yesterday made
you might perhaps astonish you, but I am now come to discourse the
matter more calmly with you, and I doubt not, when you have heard my
reasons----'

"'Christian!' interrupted Hamet, with a severe but composed countenance,
'cease at length to insult the miserable with proposals more shocking
than even these chains. If thy religion permit such acts as those, know
that they are execrable and abominable to the soul of every Mohammedan;
therefore, from this moment, let us break off all further intercourse
and be strangers to each other.'

"'No,' answered the merchant, flinging himself into the arms of Hamet,
'let us from this moment be more closely linked than ever! Generous man,
whose virtues may at once disarm and enlighten thy enemies! Fondness for
my son first made me interested in thy fate; but from the moment that I
saw thee yesterday I determined to set thee free; therefore, pardon me
this unnecessary trial of thy virtue, which has only raised thee higher
in my esteem. Francisco has a soul which is as averse to deeds of
treachery and blood as even Hamet himself. From this moment, generous
man, thou art free; thy ransom is already paid, with no other obligation
than that of remembering the affection of this thy young and faithful
friend; and perhaps hereafter, when thou seest an unhappy Christian
groaning in Turkish fetters, thy generosity may make thee think of
Venice.'

"It