e 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. Marvellous 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 gaily 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 Selima lived happily until age gently did its work at
their appointed times: and Halil and Miriam inherited the house and the
wealth that had been gathered for them.

The supernatural part of the story remains to be told. The Weeping Chamber
was never again opened; but every time that a death was about to occur in
the family, a shower of heavy tear-drops was heard to fall upon its marble
floor, and low wailings came through the walled doorway. Years, centuries
passed away, and the mystery repeated itself with unvarying uniformity.
The family fell into poverty, and only occupied a portion of the house,
but invariably before one of its members sickened un