t do.
Write, then, to thy brother to obtain tidings of the beloved one. I will
make of this chamber a weeping chamber. It has resounded with merriment
enough. All my children learned to laugh and to talk here. I will hang it
with black, and erect a tomb in the midst; and every day I will come and
spend two hours, and weep for those who are gone and for him who is
absent." Fadlallah approved her design; and they made a weeping chamber,
and lamented together every day therein. But their letters to Bassora
remained unanswered; and they began to believe that fate had chosen a
solitary tomb for Halil.

One day a woman, dressed in the garb of the poor, came to the house of
Fadlallah with a boy about twelve years old. When the merchant saw them he
was struck with amazement, for he beheld in the boy the likeness of his
son Halil; and he called aloud to Selima, who, when she came, shrieked
with amazement. The woman told her story, and it appeared that she was
Miriam. Having spent some months in prison, she had escaped and taken
refuge in a forest in the house of her nurse. Here she had given birth to
a son, whom she had called by his father's name. When her strength
returned, she had set out as a beggar to travel over the world in search
of her lost husband. Marvelous were the adventures she underwent, God
protecting her throughout, until she came to the land of Persia, where she
found Halil working as a slave in the garden of the Governor of Fars.
After a few stolen interviews, she had again resumed her wanderings to
seek for Fadlallah, that he might redeem his son with wealth; but had
passed several years upon the road.

Fortune, however, now smiled upon this unhappy family, and in spite of his
age, Fadlallah set out for Fars. Heaven made the desert easy, and the road
short for him. On a fine calm evening he entered the gardens of the
governor, and found his son gayly singing as he trimmed an orange tree.
After a vain attempt to preserve an incognito, the good old man lifted up
his hands, and shouting, "Halil, my first born!" fell upon the breast of
the astonished slave. Sweet was the interview in the orange grove, sweet
the murmured conversation between the strong young man and the trembling
patriarch, until the perfumed dew of evening fell upon their heads.
Halil's liberty was easily obtained, and father and son returned in safety
to Beyrout. Then the Weeping Chamber was closed, and the door walled up;
and Fadlallah and Sel