ped him in her arms.
'Twas the last morning that he e'er rode forth,
And I, alas! I let him ride alone.
Poor Lilla died of grief, and ne'er forgave
My error that I let him ride alone.
He ne'er returned.

SITTAH.

Poor brother!

SALADIN.

Say no more.
A few short years, and we shall ne'er return.
And then who knows? But 'tis not death alone
That blights the hopes and promises of youth,
They have far other foes, and oftentimes
The strongest, like the weakest, is o'ercome.
But be that as it may, I must compare
This portrait with the Templar, that I may
Observe how much my fancy cheated me.

SITTAH.

'Twas for that purpose that I brought it here.
But give it, and I'll tell thee if 'tis like:
We women are best judges of such things.

SALADIN (_to the doorkeeper who enters_).

Who's there? the Templar? Bid him come at once.

SITTAH.

Not to disturb you, or perplex him with
My curious questions, I'll retire awhile. (_Throws herself upon the
sofa, and lets her veil fall_.)

SALADIN.

That's well. (And now his voice--will that be like?
For Assad's voice still slumbers in my soul!)

Scene IV.

_The_ Templar _and_ Saladin.

TEMPLAR.

I am your prisoner, Sultan.

SALADIN.

You my prisoner!
Shall I refuse him liberty, whose life
I freely spared?

TEMPLAR.

It is my duty, Sire,
To hear, and not anticipate, your will.
Yet it but ill becomes my character
And station, Sultan, to be thus profuse
Of gratitude because you've spared my life--
A life which henceforth is at your command.

SALADIN.

Only forbear to use it to my hurt.
Not that I grudge my mortal enemy
Another pair of hands; but such a heart
As yours I do not yield him willingly.
You valiant youth! I have not gauged you ill:
In soul and body, you are truly Assad.
I fain would learn where you have been so long
Concealed. In what dim cavern you have slept?