FATIMA’S RESCUE

FATIMA’S RESCUE.

THE Cadi of Acara had two children named Mustapha and Fatima, who were the joy and delight of their infirm and ailing father, and who loved each other very dearly. Mustapha was just two years older than Fatima, and it was his constant effort to provide pleasure and amusement for his pretty little sister.

He knew a pirate ship had been seen in the neighbourhood. (P. 29.)

On her sixteenth birthday he gave a little feast for her, to which he invited all her favourite playfellows. The feast was set out in the garden, and consisted of the daintiest dishes that could be procured. After they had partaken of the meal, and when it was nearly evening, he suggested that he should take them out for a sail upon the water.

Fatima and her friends were delighted, for it was a beautiful evening, and the view of the town 29] from the water was a particularly fine one. When Mustapha had sailed the ship for a short time he wished to return to land; but the girls begged and entreated him to take them a little further out. He was most unwilling to do this, as he knew a pirate ship had been seen in the neighbourhood some few days earlier. The girls, however, were set on sailing out to a point of land that stretched far out into the sea, for they were anxious to land there in order to watch the sun set and see the great ball of fire sink down into the sea.

Just as they reached the point of land, they noticed a barque, manned with armed men, and Mustapha fearing it might mean danger, ordered the boat to be turned round and rowed towards land. But the barque pursued the smaller boat, overtook it and got between it and the land. By this time the girls began to realise their danger, and so terrified were they that they shrieked aloud and would not keep their seats in the boat. In vain Mustapha begged them to sit still, pointing out how impossible it was to make any way whilst they impeded the movements of the rowers. As the barque approached, with one accord they rushed to the opposite side of the boat and their weight overturned it, and in a moment they were all struggling in the water.

The people on shore had seen what was happening and several boats put off to assist Mustapha. They were just in time to help rescue the frightened girls, and at their approach the strange barque sailed away. At first it was impossible to find out if 30] everyone was safe; but when the girls were brought ashore it was discovered, alas! that Fatima and one of her companions were missing. In one of the boats was a stranger, and on Mustapha questioning him as to how he got there he owned that he had belonged to the pirate ship. That he had jumped overboard to come to the assistance of the sinking girls, and that his comrades had left him in the lurch when they fled from the approaching boats; but he had had time to see that two of the girls had been seized by the pirates and carried away in their ship.

The Cadi’s grief knew no bounds, and as for Mustapha, he was beside himself with sorrow, for not only did he blame himself for the loss of his beloved sister, but her friend, who had also been taken captive, had been for a long time past his promised bride, and would have been his wife already had it not been that her parents were poor and the Cadi did not think her a suitable match for his son.

Mustapha’s father was a stern old man, and as soon as his grief had sufficiently subsided he sent for his son and said:

“Owing to your folly, I have been robbed of the joy and consolation of my old age. Go, I banish you from my sight for ever, and the curse of your old father shall rest upon your head, unless by some chance you should be able to rescue Fatima, when I will forgive you and receive you once more as my son.”

Mustapha had already fully determined to endeavour to rescue his sister and her friend, but he had 31] intended to seek his father’s blessing before setting out upon his travels. However, the unjust treatment he received did but steel his heart and made him the more determined not to cease from his quest until he had been successful.

He spoke to the man they had captured from the pirate ship, and from him learned that the vessel was a slaver, and that the human wares were generally carried to Balsora and there disposed of.

Mustapha decided to travel overland, as there happened to be no ship sailing just then from his native town, and he wished to reach Balsora soon after the pirates. He had a good horse and little baggage and so he reckoned he could do the journey in six days’ time, but alas! upon the evening of the fourth day, he was set upon quite suddenly by three men. Seeing that resistance was useless, and supposing the attacking party merely wanted his horse and money, he decided to surrender, which he did. The men then dismounted and, taking him in their midst, rode off with him at great speed.

It seemed to the poor youth that his father’s curse was already about to light upon him, for he could not think how it would be possible for him to rescue Fatima and Zoraida, deprived, as he shortly expected to be, of all means. He and his companions rode silently along for about an hour; they then turned into a valley, skirted by gigantic trees and carpeted with soft green turf. A brook gurgled peacefully through the valley, and beside 32] it some fifteen to twenty tents were pitched, whilst a number of camels and horses were tethered to the tent-pegs. The sound of a zither, accompanying two fine manly voices, issued from one of the tents.

It seemed very improbable that people who had selected such a charming little spot for their camping place could have very evil intentions, and so Mustapha took heart and followed his guides quite cheerfully when, having unbound his feet and bidden him dismount, they led him into a tent, larger and more richly decorated than any of the others. The beautiful cushions, embroidered with gold, woven carpets, and golden dishes, in which sweet perfumes burnt, would elsewhere merely have betokened wealth and luxury; but in these lonely surroundings seemed to point to robbery.

On one of the cushions sat a little old man. His face was ugly, swarthy, and repulsive. A gleam of savage cunning in his eyes and a cruel look about his mouth gave him a hateful appearance. Although he seemed to be a person of some importance, Mustapha soon perceived that the tent had not been so richly decorated on his account, and his captors’ words confirmed this—“Where is the Chief?” they asked the little man. “Away hunting,” he replied “but he told me to take his place during his absence!”

“More the pity,” replied one of the brigands, “for we must soon decide whether this dog is to die or whether we are to obtain a ransom for him, and that is a question for the Chief to decide, and not for you to meddle with.”

33]

On one of the cushions sat a little old man. (P. 32.)

The little man raised himself in wrath and attempted to box the ears of the man who had annoyed him by this speech, but as he could not reach to do this, he burst into a perfect volley of abuse, and as the other brigands were not slow to reply, the tent soon resounded with tones of angry voices.

34] But the curtains at the entrance to the tent were suddenly lifted and in came a tall handsome young man, stately and dignified as a Persian prince. His clothing and weapons were plain and unadorned, with the exception of a dagger with a richly decorated hilt and a gleaming sabre. His determined mien and his whole appearance were such as commanded respect without inspiring terror.

“Who dares to quarrel in my tent?” he demanded of the startled men.

For a moment there was silence and then one of the brigands recounted all that had happened. The Chief’s face reddened with anger—“When have I ever set you in my place, Hassan?” he cried, and the little man seemed to shrink with fear, until he looked smaller than ever. He got up and began to slink out of the tent, when a good kick from the Chief sent him flying out of the doorway.

As soon as the little man had disappeared, the three men placed Mustapha before the master of the tent, who had seated himself upon the cushions. “We have brought you the man you bade us bring,” they said. The Chief gazed earnestly at the prisoner and said: “Pasha of Sulieika, your own conscience will tell you why you are in the presence of Orbasan.”

On hearing these words Mustapha flung himself at Orbasan’s feet.

“You are in error, my lord,” he said, “I am an unfortunate traveller, but not the Pasha of Sulieika.”

35] The brigands appeared to be surprised, but the Chief said: “Dissimulation will not help you, I can bring witnesses to prove your identity.” And he thereupon commanded that one Zuleima should be brought in.

An old woman appeared, and on being questioned as to whether or no the man before her was the Pasha of Sulieika, she answered immediately that he was.

“Wretched man,” cried the Chief angrily, “you see how impossible it is to deceive me. You are not worthy that I should stain my good dagger with your blood, but to-morrow morning I will have you bound to the tail of my horse and will go a-hunting with you, till the sun sets behind the hills of Sulieika.”

Mustapha’s heart sank. “It is my father’s curse that has driven me to this shameful death,” he cried; “alas, sweet sister, and Zoraida, how can I ever hope to rescue you now.”

“This pretence is useless,” said one of the brigands, “see, the Chief bites his lips and feels for his dagger; if you wish to live another night you had best come with me quickly.” And binding Mustapha’s hands behind his back he was about to lead him from the tent, when three other brigands entered, with a prisoner in their midst. “Here, as you commanded us, we bring you the Pasha of Sulieika,” said one of them, leading their prisoner before the Chief.

Mustapha glanced at the prisoner and could not but own that there was a great resemblance between 36] himself and the Pasha, only the other man was darker in complexion and wore a dark beard.

The Chief was much surprised to see a second prisoner: “Which of you really is the man I seek?” he asked.

“If you seek the Pasha of Sulieika,” the prisoner answered proudly, “I am he.”

The Chief regarded him with a stern and terrible look and then made signs that he was to be led away. This being done, he cut the cords that bound Mustapha with his dagger and invited him to take a seat by his side.

“I ask your pardon for the mistake that has occurred,” he said, “but it was a strange interposition of Providence that placed you in the hands of my companions at the moment they were lying in wait for that vile wretch you have just seen.”

Mustapha asked for one favour only as compensation, namely, that he might be allowed to proceed on his way without further delay, and on the Chief questioning him as to the reason of his great haste he told him all. The Chief then persuaded him to remain with him one night at least, telling him that both he and his horse needed rest, and promised to show him the next morning a short way by which he would be able to reach Balsora in a day and a half. Mustapha agreed to this and after being most hospitably entertained slept soundly all night long in the robber’s tent.

When he awoke he found himself alone in the tent, but through the hangings over the doorway he 37] could hear voices, which seemed to belong to the Robber Chief and the little dark dwarf. He listened attentively, and to his horror heard the little man advising the Chief to murder him, as if he were allowed to go free he might betray the whole troop.

Mustapha could not but perceive that the little man owed him a grudge, because he had been the cause of the sharp treatment he had received the previous day. But the Robber Chief, after reflecting a few moments, said: “No, he is my guest, and as such is sacred to me, besides which he does not look like a man to betray one.”

He then thrust aside the tent curtains and entered—“Peace be with thee, Mustapha,” he said, “we will drain a morning draught and then you should prepare yourself to start.”

He listened attentively. (P. 37.)

He handed his guest a cup of sherbert, and when they had each drunk, they saddled their horses and Mustapha mounted and left the camp with a lighter heart than when he had entered it.

As they left the tents behind them the Chief told his new friend that the Pasha they had captured the previous day, after having promised him and 38] his men the free range of his territory, had captured one of the best and bravest of them and, after torturing him terribly, had hanged him, and that now he should die himself.

Mustapha did not venture to remonstrate, being only too glad to escape with a whole skin himself.

When they reached the limit of the forest the Chief drew rein and offered his hand to Mustapha in farewell:

“Mustapha,” said he, “you have been in somewhat a strange fashion the guest of the Robber Orbasan. I will not ask you not to betray me, but trust to you that you will not do so. You have suffered, without cause, all the pangs of the fear of death, and you deserve some compensation. Take this dagger and if ever you are in need of help send it to me and I will hasten to your aid. This purse of gold may also be of assistance to you on your journey.”

Mustapha thanked him for his generosity, accepted the dagger, but refused the purse. But Orbasan, having pressed his hand, let the purse fall to the ground and then set spurs to his horse and rode off at such speed that Mustapha, seeing it was useless to overtake him, picked up the purse, and was astonished to find what a quantity of money it contained. Having thanked Allah for his goodness and recommended the robber to his protection, he continued his journey in a much more cheerful mood towards Balsora.

He reached that city on the seventh day of his journey, and as soon as he had put up at an inn he enquired when the next yearly slave market was to 39] be held. To his horror and distress he heard that he had arrived just two days too late for it.

The people sympathised with him over his delay and told him how much he had lost, for on the very last day of the market two young slaves had been put up for sale who were so beautiful that there had been great bidding amongst the people for them, and they fetched such a high price that only their present master, who was a very rich man, could afford to buy them.

On making further enquiries as to their appearance he could no longer doubt they were the two unfortunate girls he was in search of. He also heard that the man who had bought them was called Thiuli-Kos and lived forty miles away from Balsora; he was an elderly man who had amassed a large fortune, and had retired from public affairs and settled down to enjoy his possessions in peace and quietness.

At first Mustapha thought he would re-mount and try and overtake Thiuli-Kos, but then he reflected that he could do little, for he was but a single man against the large retinue Thiuli-Kos would no doubt have with him, and that it would be impossible to wrest his prey from him; he therefore thought of another plan. His resemblance to the Pasha of Sulieika, which well-nigh proved fatal to him, might stand him in good stead now, and he determined to enter Thiuli-Kos’ house in that name in order to attempt the rescue of the two girls. He therefore engaged servants and horses and here Orbasan’s gift of money assisted him. Having purchased magnificent 40] clothing for himself and his servants, he set out for Thiuli-Kos’ palace. He reached it in five days and found it was built on a lovely plain and was so surrounded by high walls that few of the buildings could be seen from without. He took the precaution to dye his hair and beard a darker tint, and coloured his face with the juice of a certain plant he knew of, so that no one could have supposed he was any other than the real Pasha; then he sent one of his servants to Thiuli’s palace to ask for a night’s lodging. The servant returned accompanied by four beautifully dressed slaves, who led Mustapha’s horse into the courtyard. They assisted him to alight and led him up a flight of marble steps to Thiuli.

Thiuli was a jolly old fellow and received Mustapha kindly, and ordered the best dishes his cook could prepare to be set before him. After dinner Mustapha turned the conversation to slaves, and the old man told him of the two beauties he had just lately bought, praising their appearance loudly, but regretting the fact that they appeared to be so sad, so that Mustapha retired to bed in high hopes of being soon able to effect a rescue.

He had been asleep about an hour when he was awakened by the light of a lamp streaming down upon his eyes. Raising himself on his elbow he at first believed himself to be still sleeping and dreaming, for before him stood the same swarthy little dwarf he had seen in Orbasan’s tent. He carried a lamp in his hand, and a horrid grin distended his mouth from ear to ear. “What do you want?” 43] asked Mustapha angrily, as soon as he had convinced himself he was awake.

FATIMA’S RESCUE “He made for the door, screaming lustily for help” (p. 43)

“Don’t disturb yourself,” replied the little man. “I know quite well why you are here, your noble countenance is not unknown to me, but, had I not assisted at the hanging of the Pasha of Sulieika I might have mistaken you for him. But I am here to make a suggestion.”

“First of all tell me why you are here,” said Mustapha.

“Well,” replied the little man. “I did not get on very well with the Chief, and so I left him. Our last particular quarrel was over you, and so, Mustapha, it is but fair you should promise me your sister for a wife, otherwise I will go straight to my new master and tell him who the Pasha of Sulieika really is.”

Mustapha was beside himself with rage and fear; just as he had thought himself about to accomplish his design, this wretched little creature came to frustrate it. There was only one thing to be done, he must kill the little horror, and he sprang out of bed, meaning to catch him. But the dwarf had guessed what might happen and was prepared for him. Dropping his lamp, he made for the door, screaming lustily for help.

Mustapha was now in sad straits and all present hope of rescuing the two girls was at an end; he had to think only of his own safety. He looked out of the window and found it was some distance from the ground and that there was a high wall he would have to scale as well. However, as he stood 44] considering, he heard voices approaching, and just as the door was about to be burst open he jumped from the window, ran across the courtyard and, climbing the wall nimbly, had soon left his enemies behind. He never stopped running until he had reached the shelter of a wood, and then he threw himself down quite exhausted, to try and think what he should do next. Of course he had lost his horses and his servants, having left them behind him at Thiuli’s house, but he still had a good sum of Orbasan’s money in his girdle.

Very soon he had invented another plan to save his sister. He continued his way through the wood until he reached a village, where he purchased a horse at a low price which speedily carried him to a town. Here he sought out a physician and offered him several pieces of gold on consideration that he would concoct a draught which would give all the semblance of death without harming the patient, and another draught to counteract the effect of the first. Having made his bargain, he bought a false beard, a black gown, and all sorts of phials which a physician would be likely to have. He strapped his baggage on the back of an ass and retraced his steps to Thiuli’s house.

He was so changed in appearance that he scarcely knew himself, and had little fear of being recognised by Thiuli-Kos or anyone else. He arrived at the palace and announced himself as the physician Chakamankabudibaba. Everything happened as he wished it to do. The old man was so taken by his high-sounding name that he at once asked him to enter and take a seat at his table.

45] After some conversation, in which Mustapha managed to give the impression that he was a very learned man, Thiuli said he would take this opportunity of having all his slaves examined and ascertain the state of their health. Mustapha was overjoyed to think that he was so soon to see his beloved sister again, but in this he was mistaken. Thiuli conducted him to his seraglio, it is true, but when they reached a splendidly-furnished room there was no one in it. “Chambaba, or whatever your name may be, dear doctor,” said Thiuli, “behold this opening in the wall. Through this each of my slaves shall pass her arm and you can feel her pulse, and ascertain the state of her health.” Mustapha made some objection to this arrangement, but Thiuli would not consent to alter it, only he did consent to give a few hints as to the previous state of their healths.

The slave slipped her hand through the opening. (P. 46.)

Drawing a strip of paper from his girdle Thiuli now began to call out the names of his slaves, and 46] as he called the slave who answered to the name slipped her hand through the opening.

Six times had Mustapha felt the pulses and pronounced six slaves in good health, and then came the name of Fatima.

Trembling with joy Mustapha grasped the little white hand and then, with a grave air, pronounced the patient to be very ill.

Thiuli was very much concerned and asked the wise Chakamankabudibaba to prepare a medicine for her which could not fail to cure her. Mustapha left the room and wrote the following message: “Fatima, I will save you if you will consent to the following plan. I will give you a draught which will make you appear dead for two days; I have another draught in my possession which will restore you. If you consent, pretend that the simple draught I will send you has been of no avail; I shall know this is a sign that you agree and will see that the more potent draught is given you next.”

He soon returned to the room, where Thiuli awaited him, bringing with him a harmless draught which he handed to Fatima. He felt her pulse once more, and managed at the same time to slip the little note under her bracelet; Thiuli was so distressed about Fatima’s illness that he thought of no one else, and put off the medical examination of the other slaves until a more convenient season.

When he and Mustapha had left the room he said to him sorrowfully: “Chadibaba, tell me frankly what you think of Fatima’s state.”

“Alas!” answered the wise physician, heaving a 47] deep sigh: “may the prophet give you consolation for I cannot. Fatima is suffering from a malignant fever from which I am afraid she will not recover.” Far from appreciating the plain speaking he had begged for, Thiuli flew into a great rage—“You wretched quack,” cried he, “do you mean to say that the slave for whom I paid two thousand gold pieces is to die like an old cow? Take note, if you do not manage to save her life I will have you beheaded.”

Mustapha saw that he had made a mistake and tried to reassure Thiuli.

Just then a black slave came to tell the physician that the medicine had done no good. “Exert your whole skill, Chakamdababelda or whatever your name may be, I will make it worth your while to cure her,” shrieked Thiuli, almost weeping to think of the possible loss of his two thousand gold pieces.

“I will give her a draught that is almost certain to relieve her,” answered Mustapha.

“Yes, yes,” sobbed the old man, “by all means give her another draught.”

Well pleased, Mustapha slipped away to fetch the sleeping draught, which he gave to the black slave to give to Fatima. Then, saying that he needed to gather a few healing herbs which grew on the banks of the lake, he hurried out of the palace.

As soon as he reached the bank he took off his disguise and cast it into the water, where it floated gaily about, then he hid himself in some bushes and waited for the approach of night, when he went and hid himself in the burial place attached to Thiuli’s palace.

48] Mustapha had scarcely been gone an hour when the black slave came and informed Thiuli that Fatima seemed at the point of death. The old man at once sent his servants to fetch the doctor, but they returned shortly, saying that he had undoubtedly fallen into the water and been drowned, for his black robe was floating upon the surface, and every now and again they had seen his grey beard bobbing up and down. Thiuli raved like a madman, tore his beard and beat his head against the wall, but all to no purpose, for shortly afterwards Fatima breathed her last.

As soon as Thiuli heard that she was really dead he ordered her to be taken away to the burial place, for he could not bear having a dead person in the house. The servants who bore her there did but place her on the ground and run away, for they heard such dismal sighs and groans that they were afraid. Of course it was Mustapha who had frightened the servants, and as soon as they were out of the way he came out from his hiding place and examined the girl he supposed to be his sister. What was his horror to find that the girl who lay in the death-like trance bore no resemblance to Fatima whatever, but was a complete stranger.

When he had a little recovered from his disappointment he reflected it would be cruel to leave the poor girl in the state she was in, and so he uncorked the phial he had brought containing the antidote and poured the medicine down her throat. At once she opened her eyes and began to breathe freely, but it was some little time before she could 49] remember where she was and what had happened; but when she did she flung herself at Mustapha’s feet and thanked him for having rescued her from her horrible captivity. Mustapha questioned her as to how it chanced that he had saved her instead of his sister Fatima.

He poured the medicine down her throat. (P. 48.)

She looked at him for some moments in surprise.

50] “Now I begin to understand to what chance I owe my deliverance,” she said at length. “Since I have been in Thiuli’s house I have been called Fatima, which I understand is your sister’s name.”

After some little conversation Mustapha discovered that Fatima and Zoraida were in the palace, but that, according to Thiuli’s custom, he had given them new names when they became his property, and they were now called Mirza and Nurmahal.

Fatima, the rescued slave, could not but see how disappointed Mustapha was that he had failed in his attempt to carry off his sister, and she did all she could to encourage him to make a further effort, telling him that she had a plan which might prove successful.

So Mustapha took heart and questioned her as to how he should set about his task.

“I have been a slave in Thiuli’s house for the last five months,” she said, “and from the first day thought out a means of escape, but it was too difficult to carry out unaided. In the inner courtyard you may have noticed a fine fountain, which casts its water on high from no less than ten different jets. Now there was a similar fountain in my father’s garden, which was fed by water conducted to it by an underground passage, and I wished to find out if Thiuli’s fountain was supplied in a similar manner. So one day I began to praise it to Thiuli and to say what a clever builder he must have had to design it. ‘I designed it myself,’ said he, well pleased, ‘and what you see is not the most wonderful part about 51] it, for the water has to be brought here from a distance of a thousand feet at least. I had a lofty arched underground passage built from my courtyard to a brook and I had the waters of the brook turned into this passage, through which it now flows and supplies my fountain with water. I designed and superintended the building of the whole thing myself.’

“After hearing this I longed for the strength of a man that I might be able to raise one of the stones in the courtyard, reach the underground passage, and be free. I can show you the direction in which this passage lies and by it you can one night obtain entrance to the palace; but you will need one or two men to assist you, for you will have to overpower the black slaves who keep watch over the quarters where the women slaves are kept.”

In spite of the fact that he had already had two failures Mustapha once more took heart, trusting that Allah would allow him to carry out successfully the plan of Fatima the slave girl. He promised her that he would arrange for her to reach her own home when he had rescued the others, as a reward for lending him her assistance in gaining an entrance to the palace.

His principal anxiety was how he should obtain the assistance of two or three men. Suddenly he remembered Orbasan’s dagger and the promise the Robber Chief had made that he would come to his aid if ever he were in need of help.

So he made haste to leave the burial place and, taking Fatima with him, returned to the town in which he had purchased his physician’s disguise, and 52] placed the girl in the charge of a poor but respectable woman.

Then, with the last of Orbasan’s money he bought a horse, and set out once more for the robber’s dwelling place. He reached it in three days’ time, and, although an unexpected guest, was none the less a welcome one.

He told Orbasan of his unsuccessful attempts to rescue his sister, and in spite of the gravity of the situation Orbasan could not refrain from laughing as he pictured his friend decked out as the physician Chakamankabudibaba. But he was enraged to hear of the treachery of the dwarf, and vowed he would hang him with his own hands, as soon as he could catch him. He promised Mustapha that as soon as he was rested and refreshed he would return with him and help him to carry out his designs.

Accordingly on the following morning, Mustapha and Orbasan, accompanied by three of the latter’s bravest men, set out for the little town where Mustapha had left the rescued Fatima. They rode so fast that they reached it in two days’ time and, calling for Fatima, who was to show them the way, rode on to a little wood not far from Thiuli’s palace. Here they hid themselves until nightfall and then Fatima led the way to the brook which supplied the fountain. Very soon they found the entrance to the underground passage and prepared to descend. One of the men was left in charge of Fatima and the horses, and the rescued slave repeated her directions—They were to traverse the passage until they came to the pipes which supplied 53] the fountain; having raised one of the flag-stones they would find themselves in the inner courtyard. They would see two towers to right and left of them and, passing through the sixth door from the right hand tower, they would come into the room where the real Fatima and Zoraida were shut up, watched by two black slaves.

Mustapha and the rescued girls slipped through the opening. (P. 55.)

So, well-armed and carrying crowbars with them, Mustapha, Orbasan, and two other men climbed down 54] into the underground passage. The water in the passage reached to their middles, but they were nevertheless able to move briskly forward. In half an hour’s time they had reached the end of the passage, immediately below the fountain, and then they began to use their crowbars. The stone-work was thick and very strong, but the efforts of the four men at length succeeded in forcing an opening sufficiently large for a man to crawl through.

Orbasan crept through first and gave a hand to the others, and when they all four stood in the courtyard they gazed around them in order to determine which of the doors was the one described to them.

But they were somewhat perplexed, for on counting from the right hand tower they found that one door had been walled up, and they were not sure whether Fatima had meant them to count this door or not.

But Orbasan did not hesitate long. “My good sword can open any door for me,” he said, and advanced towards the one he imagined to be the right one.

On opening the door they discovered six black slaves lying fast asleep. They would have retreated silently, as they saw they had come to the wrong door, but a figure in the corner raised itself, and a well-known voice began to shriek for help. It was the little dwarf from Orbasan’s camp.

But before the black slaves knew what was happening Orbasan had seized the little man; tearing his girdle into pieces he stuffed part of it down his throat, and with the rest he tied his hands behind his back, then he turned his attention to the slaves, several of whom had been bound and gagged by 55] Mustapha and the two robbers; in a few moments they were completely overpowered, but were told their lives would be spared on condition that they told where Mirza and Nurmahal were to be found.

They confessed that they were in the adjoining room, and on Mustapha hurrying in he found both Fatima and Zoraida, who had been awakened by the noise.

Hurriedly snatching up their jewels and their clothing they followed Mustapha out of the palace. The robbers wished to take some plunder with them, but Orbasan forbade it, declaring that it should never be said of Orbasan that he broke into houses by night like a common thief.

Mustapha and the rescued girls slipped through the opening in the courtyard into the underground passage, Orbasan promising to follow him immediately, but before doing so he and one of the robbers took the little dwarf and, leading him into the courtyard, hanged him with a silken rope, which they had brought expressly for the purpose, to the topmost point of the fountain.

Having so punished the treachery of the wretched little creature, they also got down into the watercourse and followed Mustapha and the girls.

Fatima and Zoraida, with tears in their eyes, would have thanked their noble rescuer for having saved them from a miserable existence, but he bade them waste no time on words, for it was quite likely that Thiuli-Kos would, before long, discover his loss and pursue them.

It was with a deep feeling of gratitude that, on 56] the following day, Mustapha and the girls bade Orbasan farewell, vowing that they would never forget him. Fatima, the girl who had been first rescued, was carefully disguised, and then sent to Balsora and put on board a boat which would carry her to her own home.

After a short and most successful voyage Mustapha and the two girls arrived home, and the joy of the old Cadi to see his dearly-loved daughter once again was beyond all expression.

He gave a great feast to which he invited all his relations and friends, to whom he made Mustapha relate all his adventures.

When he had finished speaking the Cadi solemnly revoked the curse he had put upon his son’s head, and taking Zoraida’s hand he placed it in that of Mustapha. “Take her,” he said, “as a reward for your unwearied perseverance, and take also the blessing of your aged father, whose earnest wish is that our city may never lack men who, like you, combine tender brotherly affection with wisdom and perseverance.”

57]