el,
shrugging his shoulders, 'war is not by any means a commercial
transaction. It seemed that, when we were on the point of victory,
we were in fact entirely defeated. The enemy had truly made a feigned
defence, and had only allured us into the passes, where they fired on
us from the heights, and rolled down upon our confused masses huge
fragments of rock. Our strength, our numbers, and our cannon, only
embarrassed us; there arose a confusion; the troops turned and
retreated. And, when everything was in the greatest perplexity, and we
were regaining the plain, our rear was pursued by crowds of cavalry,
Kurds, and other Giaours, who destroyed our men with their long lances,
uttering horrible shouts. For my own part, I thought all was over, but
a good horse is not a bad thing, and I am here, my uncle, having ridden
for twenty hours, nearly, without a pause.'

'And when did you see this child of the mountains who spoke of the lost
one?' asked Besso, in a low and broken voice.

'On the eve of the engagement,' said Hillel. 'He had been sent to me
with a letter, but, alas! had been plundered on his way by our troops,
and the letter had been destroyed or lost. Nevertheless, he induced them
to permit him to reach my tent, and brought these words, that the ever
adorable had truly quitted the mountains, and that the lost letter had
been written to that effect by the chieftain of the Ansarey.'

'Is there yet hope! What sound is that?'

''Tis the letter of the second Cabala,' said Issachar, the son of Selim.

And at this moment entered the chamber a faithful slave, who made signs
to the physician, upon which Issachar rose, and was soon engaged in
earnest conversation with him who had entered, Hillel tending the side
of Besso. After a few minutes, Issachar approached the couch of his
patient, and said, 'Here is one, my lord and friend, who brings good
tidings of your daughter.'

'God of my fathers!' exclaimed Besso, passionately, and springing up.

'Still, we must be calm,' said Issachar; 'still, we must be calm.'

'Let me see him,' said Besso.

'It is one you know, and know well,' said Issachar. 'It is the Emir
Fakredeen.'

'The son of my heart,' said Besso, 'who brings me news that is honey in
my mouth.'

'I am here, my father of fathers,' said Fakredeen, gliding to the side
of the couch.

Besso grasped his hand, and looked at him earnestly in the face. 'Speak
of Eva,' he at length said, in a voice of choking agita