“Sobs of distress here broke from the speaker; and, covering his face with his hands, he awaited the Hakim’s reply. But while the latter bent down to whisper his answer, the Dervish addressed himself to the trembling princes:—
“‘Learn here, at last,’ said he, ‘the value of those limbs, the power of using which you look upon with such thankless indifference. As it is with this youth to-day, so may it be with you to-morrow, if the decree goes forth from on high. Bid me not again return to your father to tell him you are weary of a blessing, the loss of which would overwhelm you with despair.’
“The young princes,” continued Aunt Judy, were, as their father had said, but children yet; that is to say, although they were fourteen or fifteen years old, they were childish, in not having reflected or learnt to reason. But they were not hard-hearted at bottom. Their tenderness for others had never been called out during their life of self-indulgence, but the sight of this young man’s condition, whom they personally knew as one who had at times been permitted to come up and join in their games, over-powered them with dismay.
“They entreated the Hakim to say if nothing could be done, and when he told them that a nurse, and better food, and the discourse of a wise companion, were all essential for the recovery of the patient, there was not, to say the truth, one among them who was not ready with promises of assistance, and even offers of personal help.
“And now, bidding adieu to this youthful sufferer, whose distress seemed to receive a sudden calm from the sympathy the young princes betrayed, the Hakim led the way to another part of the town, where he entered a house of rather better description, in a small room of which they found a pale, middle-aged man, who was engaged in making a coarse sort of netting for trees. Hearing the noise of the entrance, he looked up, and asked who it was, but with no change of countenance, or apparent recognition of anyone there. But as soon as the Hakim had uttered the words ‘It is I,’ a gleam of delight stole over the pale face, and the man, rising from his chair, stretched out his arms to the Hakim, entreating him to approach.
“And then the young princes saw that the pale man was blind.
“‘Is there any change, oh Cassian?’ inquired the Hakim, kindly.
“‘None, my father,’ answered the blind man, in a subdued tone. ‘But shall I murmur at what is appointed? Surely not in vain was the privilege granted me, of transcribing the manuscripts which repose on the golden shelves in the palace of the royal princes. Surely not in vain did I gather, from the treasures of ancient wisdom, and the divine songs of the poets, sources of consolation for the suffering children of men.’
“‘And has anyone been of late to read to you?’ asked the Hakim.
“But this inquiry the blind man seemed scarcely able to answer. Big tears gathered into the sightless eyes, and folding his hands across his bosom, he murmured out:—