The likeness to his wife was so striking that doubt was an impossibility.
Who can picture the happy scene when the mother once more folded her arms around the form of the daughter, only child of her heart and home?
Explanations were made, and a happy family, long disunited, was once more complete.
“I can share in your joy,” said Sherif, “for I love her as a daughter, and she will not leave me.”
“Not leave? Hath the great and illustrious pasha taken her to wife?”
“No, Mohammed, but I ask her for my nephew.”
“She shall accept.”
“If she desires.”
“She must.”
“No, no! let the young folks decide.”