whom you seek.'

'Praised be the Prophet who has preserved you! replied the old man with
tears of joy. 'Embrace me, my dear son Omar!'

The proud tailor was deeply moved by these solemn words, and with
mingled shame and joy sank into the old king's arms.

But his happiness was not long unclouded. As he raised his head he saw a
horseman who seemed trying to urge a tired or unwilling horse across the
plain.

Only too soon Labakan recognised his own old horse, Murva, and the real
Prince Omar, but having once told a lie he made up his mind not to own
his deceit.

At last the horseman reached the foot of the hill. Here he flung himself
from the saddle and hurried up to the pillar.

'Stop!' he cried, 'whoever you may be, and do not let a disgraceful
impostor take you in. My name is Omar, and let no one attempt to rob me
of it.'

This turn of affairs threw the standers-by into great surprise. The old
king in particular seemed much moved as he looked from one face to the
other. At last Labakan spoke with forced calmness, 'Most gracious lord
and father, do not let yourself be deceived by this man. As far as I
know, he is a half-crazy tailor's apprentice from Alexandria, called
Labakan, who really deserves more pity than anger.'

These words infuriated the prince. Foaming with rage, he tried to press
towards Labakan, but the attendants threw themselves upon him and held
him fast, whilst the king said, 'Truly, my dear son, the poor fellow is
quite mad. Let him be bound and placed on a dromedary. Perhaps we may be
able to get some help for him.'

The prince's first rage was over, and with tears he cried to the king,
'My heart tells me that you are my father, and in my mother's name I
entreat you to hear me.'

'Oh! heaven forbid!' was the reply. 'He is talking nonsense again. How
can the poor man have got such notions into his head?'

With these words the king took Labakan's arm to support him down the
hill. They both mounted richly caparisoned horses and rode across the
plain at the head of their followers.

The unlucky prince was tied hand and foot, and fastened on a dromedary,
a guard riding on either side and keeping a sharp look-out on him.

The old king was Sached, Sultan of the Wachabites. For many years he
had had no children, but at length the son he had so long wished for
was born. But the sooth-sayers and magicians whom he consulted as to the
child's future all said that until he was twenty-two years old h