ment, my dear Smaragdine."
With this he ran downstairs, and was surprised to find the Infidel,
whom he had left without on the street, seated within the porch.

"Dog of a Giaour!" says he, "what do you here?"

"Pardon me, good sir," replies the Giaour; "I was so wearied that my
legs refused to support me any longer, and it was a matter of mere
necessity that I should sit down somewhere."

Alischar gave him a cup of water, and waited to see him arise and take
his departure; but, behold, nothing was less in the man's mind.

"Out with you," at last cries Alischar; "out this moment, I say."

"Blessed," says the Giaour, "be they that refuse not a drink of water
to him who standeth athirst before the door, and who grudge not a bit
of bread to him that is a-hungered. Now my thirst is quenched, but my
hunger is even greater than that was. Give me a bit of bread and a
couple of onions, and for more I will not trouble you."

"Pack off!" said Alischar; "there is nothing in the house."

"With your leave, sir," says the other, producing his purse, "here are
one hundred ducats: have the kindness to seek some bread and onions
here in your neighbourhood, and I shall feel myself eternally obliged
by your condescension."

"The man is mad," thinks Alischar to himself; "but that is no reason
why I should suffer a hundred ducats to go a-begging for quarters."

"Haste, sir, haste!" continued the Giaour. "I am near to death, so
great is my hunger, and no one knows what sort of a misery that is
until he has experienced it himself. If it be but a crust, a crumb--a
morsel of dry meal even; but something I must have, else I want
strength to move myself from this seat."

"Wait a moment, then," said Alischar. And with that he went out,
taking care to lock the door behind him. He soon returned with roast
meat, pastry, honey, a water-melon, and some bread, upon a tray.

"Oh!" cried the Giaour, when he saw him returning so, "this is too
much. Ten men might dine on this, and here am I alone before it all,
unless you would do me the honour to sit with me."

"Eat alone," said Alischar harshly.

But by-and-bye the guest takes the water-melon, and divides it very
neatly into two parts, contriving by dexterous management of the knife
to besmear the one of these with a strong tincture of _nepenthe_ of
Crete and opium, enough to have put an elephant to sleep.

"Pray," said the Infidel, holding the medicated half towards Alischar,
"accept this