“Great God!” exclaimed I, overwhelmed with surprise, “do all the dead, then, come back to life! It is Habibrah, my uncle’s fool.”
“His fool—and also his murderer.”
I recoiled from him in horror.
“His murderer, wretch—was it thus that you repaid his kindness?”
He interrupted me.
“His kindness! rather say his insults.”
“What!” I again cried, “was it you, villain, who struck the fatal blow?”
“It was,” he replied, with a terrible expression upon his face. “I plunged my knife so deeply into his heart that he had hardly time to cast aside sleep before death claimed him. He cried out feebly, ‘Habibrah, come to me,’ but I was with him already.”
The cold-blooded manner in which he narrated the murder disgusted me.
“Wretch! cowardly assassin! You forgot, then, all his kindness, that you ate at his table, and slept at the foot of his bed——”