‘She will soon be here,’ said Fakredeen; ‘she only rests awhile after many hardships.’
‘Will the noble Emir refresh himself after his long journey?’ said Hillel.
‘My heart is too elate for the body to need relief,’ said the Emir.
‘That may be very true,’ said Hillel. ‘At the same time, for my part, I have always thought that the body should be maintained as well as the spirit.’ ‘Withdraw from the side of the couch,’ said Issachar, the son of Selim, to his companions. ‘My lord and friend has swooned.’
Gradually the tide of life returned to Besso, gradually the heart beat, the hand grew warm. At length he slowly opened his eyes, and said, ‘I have been dreaming of my child, even now I see her.’
Yes, so vivid had been the vision that even now, restored entirely to himself, perfectly conscious of the locality and the circumstances that surrounded him, knowing full well that he was in his brother’s house at Aleppo, suffering and disabled, keenly recalling his recent interview with Fakredeen, notwithstanding all these tests of inward and outward perception, still before his entranced and agitated vision hovered the lovely visage of his daughter, a little paler than usual, and an uncommon anxiety blended with its soft expression, but the same rich eyes and fine contour of countenance that her father had so often gazed on with pride, and recalled in her absence with brooding fondness. ‘Even now I see her,’ said Besso.
He could say no more, for the sweetest form in the world had locked him in her arms.
‘’Tis the letter of the third Cabala,’ said Issachar, the son of Selim.