hands and feet, to a faster run. Only too soon did
Labakan recognise his horse Murva, and the real Prince Omar. But the
evil spirit of falsehood once more prevailed within him, and he
resolved, come what might, with unmoved front to support the rights he
had usurped. Already, in the distance, had they observed the horseman
making signs; at length, in spite of Murva's slow gait, having reached
the bottom of the hill, he threw himself from his horse, and began
rapidly to ascend.

"Hold!" cried he. "Hold! whoever you may be, and suffer not yourselves
to be deceived by a most infamous impostor! I am called Omar, and let
no mortal venture to misuse my name!"

Great astonishment was depicted on the countenances of the bystanders
at this turn of the affair; the old man, in particular, seemed to be
much amazed, as he looked inquiringly on one and another. Thereupon
Labakan spoke, with a composure gained only by the most powerful
effort.

"Most gracious lord and father, be not led astray by this man. He is,
as far as I know, a mad journeyman tailor of Alexandria, by name
Labakan, who deserves rather our pity than our anger."

These words excited the prince almost to phrensy. Foaming with
passion, he would have sprung upon Labakan, but the bystanders,
throwing themselves between, secured him, while the old man said:
"Truly, my beloved son, the poor man is crazed. Let them bind him and
place him on one of our dromedaries; perhaps we may be of some
assistance to the unfortunate."

The anger of the prince had abated; in tears, he cried out to the old
man, "My heart tells me that you are my father; by the memory of my
mother, I conjure you--hear me!"

"Alas! God guard us!" answered he: "already he again begins to talk
wildly. How can the man come by such crazy thoughts?" Thereupon,
seizing Labakan's arm, he made him accompany him down the hill. They
both mounted fine and richly-caparisoned coursers, and rode at the
head of the procession, across the plain. They tied the hands of the
unfortunate prince, however, and bound him securely upon a dromedary.
Two horsemen rode constantly by his side, who kept a watchful eye upon
his every movement.

The old prince was Saoud, sultan of the Wechabites. For some time had
he lived without children; at last a prince, for whom he had so
ardently longed, was born to him. But the astrologer, whom he
consulted respecting the destiny of his son, told him that, until his
twenty-second year, h