wilds, commanding the fierce Abyssinians.
I see myself with him in the fair Persian valley,-lofty, snow-covered
mountains encircling the garden of roses. I see myself with him in the
hush of the golden noon, reclined by the spray of cool fountains,--now
listening to cymbals and lutes, now arguing with graybeards on secrets
bequeathed by the Chaldees,--with him, with him in moonlit nights,
stealing into the sepulchres of mythical kings. I see myself with him
in the aisles of dark caverns, surrounded by awful shapes, which have no
likeness amongst the creatures of earth. Louis Grayle! Louis Grayle! all
my earlier memories go back to Louis Grayle! All my arts and powers, all
that I have learned of the languages spoken in Europe, of the sciences
taught in her schools, I owe to Louis Grayle. But am I one and the same
with him? No--I am but a pale reflection of his giant intellect. I have
not even a reflection of his childlike agonies of sorrow. Louis Grayle!
He stands apart from me, as a rock from the tree that grows out from its
chasms. Yes, the gossip was right; I must be his son."

He leaned his face on both hands, rocking himself to and fro. At length,
with a sigh, he resumed,--

"I remember, too, a long and oppressive illness, attended with racking
pains, a dismal journey in a wearisome litter, the light hand of the
woman Ayesha, so sad and so stately, smoothing my pillow or fanning my
brows. I remember the evening on which my nurse drew the folds of the
litter aside, and said, 'See Aleppo! and the star of thy birth shining
over its walls!'

"I remember a face inexpressibly solemn and mournful. I remember the
chill that the calm of its ominous eye sent through my veins,--the face
of Haroun, the Sage of Aleppo. I remember the vessel of crystal he bore
in his hand, and the blessed relief from my pains that a drop from
the essence which flashed through the crystal bestowed! And then--and
then--I remember no more till the night on which Ayesha came to my couch
and said, 'Rise.'

"And I rose, leaning on her, supported by her. We went through dim
narrow streets, faintly lit by wan stars, disturbing the prowl of the
dogs, that slunk from the look of that woman. We came to a solitary
house, small and low, and my nurse said, 'Wait.'

"She opened the door and went in; I seated myself on the threshold. And
after a time she came out from the house, and led me, still leaning on
her, into her chamber.

"A man lay, as in sleep