After an hour's march he saw a horse stretched on the sand. A little farther on he heard something like a sigh. He approached the spot. A man lay in the dust perishing with thirst, and without strength to utter a cry. It was the son of Mansour. His eyes were starting from his head, his mouth was wide open, and his hands were pressed to his panting chest. Delirious with pain, he did not recognize Abdallah; all that he could do was to carry his fingers to his parched throat. 'Yes, you shall have water," said the Bedouin; "not in this way shall you die."

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He dismounted from his horse, took a skin of water from the saddle-bow, and, after throwing away Omar's pistols and sabre, put it to the lips of the dying man. Omar drank deeply of the water which restored his life, and found himself face to face with Abdallah.

"You have saved me," murmured he; "I recognize your inexhaustible goodness. You are a brother to those who have no brothers, a life-giving dew to the unfortunate."

"Son of Mansour, you must die," said the young

man.

"Pardon, my brother!” cried the merchant, recovering the consciousness of danger; "you have not saved my life to put me to death! Pardon, in the name of what is dearest to you on earth-pardon, in the name of her who nourished us both."

"Halima curses you," returned Abdallah; "you must die."

Terrified at the sinister air of the Bedouin, Omar fell

on his knees. "My brother, I acknowledge my guilt,” said he. "I have deserved your anger; but, however great my fault, can I not redeem it? Take all my fortune; be the richest man in Arabia."

"You have killed Hafiz―you have killed Leila; you must die," said Abdallah.

"Leila dead!" exclaimed the son of Mansour, bursting into tears; "it cannot be. Her blood be on her murderer's head; I am not guilty of it. Spare me, Abdallah; have pity on me."

"As well implore the gates of the tomb,” replied the son of Yusuf. "Make haste," he added, drawing his sabre. 66 May God give you patience to endure the affliction he sends you."

"At least, my brother," returned Omar, in a voice of emotion, “give me time for a last prayer. You would not have the angel of death seize me before I have implored the mercy of God?"

Say your prayers,” replied Abdallah.

The merchant unrolled his turban and spread it before him; then, throwing his robe over his shoulders and bowing his head, he awaited the death-blow.

"God is great!" he murmured; "there is no strength nor power but in God. To him we belong; to him we must return. O God! sovereign of the day of retribution, deliver me from the fires of hell; have pity on me."

Abdallah gazed at him, weeping. "It must be," he said to himself—" it must be;" yet his heart failed him. This wretch was his brother; he had loved him—he still loved him. When love has once entered the soul, it lodges there like the ball in the flesh; tear it out if you will, the wound still remains. In vain the son of Yusuf sought to rouse his courage by calling to mind the images of his slaughtered uncle and dying wife; despite himself, he could see nothing but the happy days of childhood, Halima clasping both her children to her breast, and old Hafiz taking them in his arms to tell

them of his adventures in battle. The pleasures they had shared, the sorrows they had had in common, all these sweet recollections rose from the past to protect the son of Mansour. Strange to say, the victims themselves appeared to ask pardon for the assassin. "He is thy brother, and defenceless," said the old soldier. "He is thy brother," cried Leila, in tears; "do not slay him." "No, no," murmured the young man, repulsing the beloved phantoms, "it must be. Not to punish crime is to betray justice.”

In spite of the trouble of the son of Mansour, Abdallah's hesitation did not escape his keen eye. Bathed in tears, he clasped the knees of his judge. “Ob, my brother," he said, "do not add thy iniquity to mine. Remember what Abel said to his brother when threatened by him: 'If thou stretchest forth thine hand to slay me, I will not stretch forth my hand against thee to slay thee; for I fear God, the lord of all creatures.' Alas! my folly has been greater than that of Cain. Thou hast a right to kill me; my life is too little to expiate the crime to which I have been led by my passions. But the forgiving God loves those who follow his example; he has promised indulgence to those who remember him; leave me to repent. He has promised a paradise whose breadth equalleth the heavens and the earth to those who bridle their anger; pardon me that God may show thee mercy, for God loveth the beneficent."

"Rise!" said Abdallah; "thy words have saved thee. Vengeance belongs to God alone. Let the Lord be thy judge; I will not dip my hands in the blood of him whom my mother has nursed."

"Wilt thou abandon me here?" said Omar, looking round him anxiously; "it would be more cruel than to slay me."

For his sole answer, Abdallah pointed to Hamama. Omar sprang on the mare, and, without turning his head, buried his spurs in her flanks and disappeared.

"Well," thought he, as he rode through the billows of sand upheaved by the wind, "if I escape the simoom I am saved from the peril predicted me. This Abdallah is very imprudent to remain in the desert in such weather, alone, without a horse, and without water. No matter; his folly be on his own head. I will forget these accursed Bedouins, who have never brought me anything but misfortune. The time has come at last to live for myself."

XXIX.

THE DIAMOND LEAF.

HE wicked laugheth in his heart at his success, and saith, "I am cunning, and cunning is the queen of the world." The just sub

mitteth to whatever may befal him, and saith, lifting his hands to heaven, "O Lord, thou causest to err whom thou pleasest, and directest whom thou pleasest; thou art the mighty, and the wise; what thou doest is well done."

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Abdallah turned his steps homeward with profound sadness. His soul was still troubled; he had expelled its anger, but could not uproot its grief. Large tears trickled down his face, while he made vain efforts to check them. Forgive me, O Lord," he cried; "be indulgent to the weakness of a heart that cannot submit. The prophet has said, 'The eyes are made for tears and the flesh for affliction.' Glory to him who holdeth the dominion over all things in his hands! May he give me strength to endure what he has willed!"

He walked on thus in prayer amid the sands and the fiery whirlwinds; heat and fatigue soon forced him to stop. The blood in his veins was turned to fire; a strange disorder troubled his brain, and he was no longer the master either of his senses or thoughts. Devoured