revered the wife who had loved him so well, for she had sinned
because of her very love for him, nor had she persisted in her sin.
Mirza Shah built to her memory a splendid mosque, and these are the
words engraved on her tomb beneath the central dome, showing how her
virtues were esteemed and her one act of wrong was forgotten:

"'Before my tomb, O stranger, stay thy way,
Reflect on fate's inexorable decree;
But yestere'en I was as thou to-day,
What I am now to-morrow thou wilt be.
Right good the grave for those whom good deeds bless,
Gentle the rest of them who tried to spread
Around their lives the balm of gentleness.
Trustful in God repose the worthy dead.
For such as they the living need not weep--
Their death is only faith-abiding sleep.'

"By her side now lies her husband, at rest and in peace, for only death
brings true rest and peace. And even now, after many years, I am on my
way to pay a pilgrimage to the tombs of that truly noble man and his
good--aye, his worthy--spouse, for, as I have said, let no man take upon
himself to judge her. Allah alone can search the hearts of men."

IV. THE SPIRIT WAIL

TOLD BY THE MERCHANT

"Allah alone can search the hearts of men," said the hakeem, slowly and
reflectively repeating the words with which the astrologer had closed
his tale. He was a man of venerable appearance, with flowing, white
beard that descended to his waist. And yet, although his face was
furrowed with the lines of old age, his eyes were wonderfully youthful
in their contemplative calm.

"No truer words have been spoken to-night," he continued. "Yet must we
further reflect that, while a man cannot sit in judgment upon his
fellows, he can assuredly judge himself, which goes to show that within
the breast of every man there dwells the very spirit of God, the power
to search his own heart, whether in condemnation or for approval. Life
is a problem, and it requires a full lifetime to solve it. Only as we
grow older do we come to know our own souls--our strength and our
weakness, the measure of our true nobility of character and likewise the
measure of our inherent meanness, the temptations not merely from
without but from within that assail us, our power to conquer these or
our miserable yielding at times, with no one, perhaps, even guessing at
our degradation except the divine spark of conscience that inexorably
turns a searching ray on every thought and on every