"Slaves, presume not to approach your Sultan! for know that Misnar, the idol of his people, sits here disguised as a fakeer."
Luckily for the Prince, several of the foremost were well acquainted with his features, or it is probable the mob would have looked upon the Vizier's speech as only a device to prevent their fury. But when the fakeer saw the foremost of the crowd acknowledge Misnar as their Sultan, and fall down before him, he tried to escape.
"My friends," said the Sultan, "secure that wretch, and suffer him not to escape. And, Horam," said he, turning to his Vizier, "let him be confined in a dungeon this night, and to-morrow brought before me in the divan of justice."
"The words of my lord," answered Horam, "are a law which cannot be changed. But let me beseech my Prince to retire from the crowd."
Misnar willingly did as Horam advised; and the people made way for him to the palace, crying out, "Long live Misnar, the pride of his slaves!"
The Sultan being returned to his palace with his Vizier, "Horam," said he, "each man has his part in life allotted to him; and the folly of those who, leaving the right and regular path, strike into the mazes of their own fancy, is sufficiently seen from our adventure this day: wherefore I would have every man endeavour to fill his real character and to shine in that, and not attempt what belongs to another, in which he can gain no credit, and runs a great hazard of disgrace."
The Vizier went forth, and brought the fakeer bound in chains before the Sultan.
The fakeer advanced to the presence of the Sultan, full of shame and fear; and falling at his footstool, cried out, "I call Mahomet to witness, I slew not the man in my wrath, but in mine own defence."
"What man?" said the Sultan, astonished at his words; "whom hast thou slain, O wicked fakeer, that thine own fears should turn evidence against thee?"
"Alas!" answered the fakeer, "hear me, most injured lord, for the blood of my brother presseth me sore.