and finally bowed assent, and
Cypros retired.

Astarte had signified to Tancred her wish that he should approach her,
while Keferinis at some distance was engaged in earnest conversation
with Fakredeen, with whom he had not had previously the opportunity of
being alone. His report of all that had transpired in his absence was
highly favourable. The minister had taken the opportunity of the absence
of the Emir and his friend to converse often and amply about them with
the Queen. The idea of an united Syria was pleasing to the imagination
of the young sovereign. The suggestion was eminently practicable. It
required no extravagant combinations, no hazardous chances of fortune,
nor fine expedients of political skill. A union between Fakredeen and
Astarte at once connected the most important interests of the mountains
without exciting the alarm or displeasure of other powers. The union was
as legitimate as it would ultimately prove irresistible. It ensured a
respectable revenue and a considerable force; and, with prudence and
vigilance, the occasion would soon offer to achieve all the rest. On the
next paroxysm in the dissolving empire of the Ottomans, the plain would
be occupied by a warlike population descending from the mountains that
commanded on one side the whole Syrian coast, and on the other all the
inland cities from Aleppo to Damascus.

The eye of the young Emir glittered with triumph as he listened to the
oily sentences of the eunuch. 'Lebanon,' he whispered, 'is the key of
Syria, my Keferinis, never forget that; and we will lock up the land.
Let us never sleep till this affair is achieved. You think she does not
dream of a certain person, eh? I tell you, he must go, or we must get
rid of him: I fear him not, but he is in the way; and the way should
be smooth as the waters of El Arish. Remember the temple to the Syrian
goddess at Deir el Kamar, my Keferinis! The religion is half the battle.
How I shall delight to get rid of my bishops and those accursed monks:
drones, drivellers, bigots, drinking my golden wine of Canobia, and
smoking my delicate Latakia. You know not Canobia, Keferinis; but you
have heard of it. You have been at Bted-deen? Well, Bteddeen to Canobia
is an Arab moon to a Syrian sun. The marble alone at Canobia cost a
million of piastres. The stables are worthy of the steeds of Solomon.
You may kill anything you like in the forest, from panthers to
antelopes. Listen, my Keferinis, let this be done