to his father; who had resolved to send him off by the caravan
that started that very afternoon. Halil, surprised and made happy by
unwonted caresses, was yet delighted at the idea of beginning an
adventurous life; and went away, manfully stifling his sobs, and
endeavoring to assume the grave deportment of a merchant. Selima shed a
few tears, and then, attracted by a crow and a chuckle from the cradle,
began to tickle the infant's soft double chin, and went on with her
interrupted lesson, "Baba, Baba!"

Halil started on his journey, and having passed through the Valley of
Robbers, the Valley of Lions, and the Valley of Devils--this is the way in
which Orientals localize the supposed dangers of travelling--arrived at the
good city of Bassora; where his uncle received him well, and promised to
send him, as supercargo on board the first vessel he dispatched to the
Indian seas. What time was spent by the caravan upon the road, the
narrative does not state. Travelling is slow work in the East; but almost
immediately on his arrival in Bassora, Halil was engaged in a love
adventure. If travelling is slow, the approaches of manhood are rapid. The
youth's curiosity was excited by the extraordinary care taken to conceal
his cousin Miriam from his sight; and having introduced himself into her
garden, beheld, and, struck by her wonderful beauty, loved her. With an
Oriental fondness he confessed the truth to his uncle, who listened with
anger and dismay, and told him that Miriam was betrothed to the Sultan.
Halil perceived the danger of indulging his passion, and promised to
suppress it; but whilst he played a prudent part, Miriam's curiosity was
also excited, and she too beheld and loved her cousin. Bolts and bars
cannot keep two such affections asunder. They met and plighted their troth
and were married secretly, and were happy. But inevitable discovery came.
Miriam was thrown into a dungeon; and the unhappy Halil, loaded with
chains, was put on board a vessel, not as supercargo, but as prisoner,
with orders that he should be left in some distant country.

Meanwhile a dreadful pestilence fell upon Beyrout, and among the first
sufferers was an eighth little one that had just learned to say "Baba!"
Selima was almost too astonished to be grieved. It seemed to her
impossible that death should come into her house, and meddle with the
fruits of so much suffering and love. When they came to take away the
little form which she had so ofte