was suppressed, and order restored.
The city, all the houses of which were closed, was patrolled by the
conquering troops, and by sunset the conqueror himself, in his hall of
state, received the reports and the congratulations of his chieftains.
The escape of Abidan seemed counterbalanced by the capture of Jabaster.
After performing prodigies of valour, the High Priest had been
overpowered, and was now a prisoner in the Serail. The conduct of
Scherirah was not too curiously criticised; a commission was appointed
to enquire into the mysterious affair; and Alroy retired to the bath[77]
to refresh himself after the fatigues of the victory which he could not
consider a triumph.

As he reposed upon his couch, melancholy and exhausted, Schirene was
announced. The Princess threw herself upon his neck and covered him with
embraces. His heart yielded to her fondness, his spirit became lighter,
his depression melted away.

'My ruby!' said Schirene, and she spoke in a low smothered voice, her
face hidden and nestled in his breast. 'My ruby! dost thou love me?'

He smiled in fondness as he pressed her to his heart.

'My ruby, thy pearl is so frightened, it dare not look upon thee. Wicked
men! 'tis I whom they hate, 'tis I whom they would destroy.'

'There is no danger, sweet. 'Tis over now. Speak not, nay, do not think
of it.'

'Ah! wicked men! There is no joy on earth while such things live.
Slay Alroy, their mighty master, who, from vile slaves, hath made them
princes! Ungrateful churls! I am so alarmed, I ne'er shall sleep again.
What! slay my innocent bird, my pretty bird, my very heart! I'll not
believe it. It is I whom they hate. I am sure they will kill me. You
shall never leave me, no, no, no, no! You shall not leave me, love,
never, never! Didst hear a noise? Methinks they are even here, ready to
plunge their daggers in our hearts, our soft, soft hearts! I think you
love me, child; indeed, I think you do!'

'Take courage, heart! There is no fear, my soul; I cannot love thee
more, or else I would.'

'All joy is gone! I ne'er shall sleep again. O my soul! art thou
indeed alive? Do I indeed embrace my own Alroy, or is it all a wild and
troubled dream, and are my arms clasped round a shadowy ghost, myself a
spectre in a sepulchre? Wicked, wicked men! Can it indeed be true? What,
slay Alroy! my joy, my only life! Ah! woe is me; our bright felicity
hath fled for ever!'

'Not so, sweet child; we are but as we were. A f