Labakan approached him, and, bowing before him, presented the dagger, with these words: “I am he whom you seek.”
“Blessed be the Prophet who hath preserved thee,” answered the old man, whilst tears of joy streamed down his face: “embrace thy father, my dear, dear son!”
The tailor had the grace to feel both touched and ashamed as the arms of the aged prince enfolded him.
But not for long was he to be left in undisturbed possession of his new position, for he soon perceived a rider hurrying across the plain towards them. Horse and rider presented a somewhat peculiar appearance, for whilst the animal appeared to be either unwilling or unable through fatigue to proceed further, the rider urged him forward with both hands and feet. Only too soon did Labakan recognise the pair as his horse Murva and the rightful prince; but he was desperate and determined to brazen it out.
The rider had been seen beckoning and making signs from a long way back, and now that, in spite of the wretched pace of his horse, he had reached the foot of the hill, he hastily dismounted and dashed up the hill. “Wait,” he cried frantically, “wait, and do not let yourselves be deceived by the basest of impostors. I am Omar, and I will allow no one to misuse my name.”
The spectators of this extraordinary scene were astounded, particularly the aged prince, who turned from one to the other of the two claimants in uncertainty. But Labakan turned to him and said in a voice of studied calmness—“Most gracious lord and father, do not allow yourself to be deceived, this man is but a mad tailor’s apprentice, who deserves our pity rather than our anger.”
These words well-nigh drove the prince crazy. Foaming with rage, he would have rushed upon Labakan had not the bystanders prevented him.
“You have spoken truly, my dear son,” said the aged prince. “The poor man must indeed be mad. He shall be bound and placed upon one of the camels and perhaps later we may be able to do something for him.”
The young man’s rage had exhausted itself and he cried to the prince: “My heart tells me that you are my father, and I pray you, by the memory of my mother, to give me a hearing.”
But the prince only shook his head—“How the poor fellow raves,” he said, then, leaning upon the false prince’s arm, he began to descend the hill. They then mounted beautifully caparisoned horses and rode at the head of the company across the plains.