A violent rapping was in a moment heard at the cottage, at which Urad uttered a loud cry, and Darandu, with shame and confusion, looked trembling toward the door.
Urad ran forward and opened it, when the son of Houadir entered, and asked Urad the reason of her cries.
"O thou blessed angel!" said Urad; "this wicked wretch is disguised in his sister's clothes."
But Darandu was fled, as guilt is ever fearful, mean, and base.
"Now, Urad," said the son of Houadir, "before you close your doors upon another man, let me resume my former features."
Upon which Urad looked, and beheld her old friend Houadir. At the sight of Houadir, Urad was equally astonished and abashed.
"Why blushes, Urad?" said Houadir.
"How, O genius," said Urad, "for such I perceive thou art—how is Urad guilty? I invited not Darandu hither: I wished not for him."
"Take care," answered Houadir, "what you say. If you wished not for him, you hardly wished him away, and, but for your imprudence, he had not entered your home. Consider how have your days been employed since I left you? Have you continued to watch the labours of the silk-worm? Have you repeated the lessons I gave you? or has the time of Urad been consumed in idleness and disobedience? Has she shaken off her dependence on Mahomet, and indulged the unavailing sorrows of her heart?"
"Alas!" answered the fair Urad, "repeat no more, my ever-honoured Houadir: I have indeed been guilty, under the mask of love and affection; and I now plainly see the force of your first rule, that idleness is the beginning of all evil and vice. Yes, my dearest Houadir, had I attended to your instructions I had given no handle to Darandu's insolence; but yet methinks some sorrows were allowable for the loss of such a mother and such a friend."