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But presently a horseman galloped forth from the town, and rode straight toward him, clattering upon the rocks. Shems-ud-dìn heard his shout. It was the voice of Hassan, crying:

“Hail to the bridegroom!”

Then Shems-ud-dìn blushed hot for joy. Even now the bride prepared herself. It was his wedding morn.

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Many years had passed since that day-spring. Shems-ud-dìn sat in his shop in the small bazaar, a great sorrow at his heart. His wife had died long ago; his son, lured by promises from the exalted Milhem, had gone forth to try his fortune in the government service; and now it had pleased God to smite the last remaining of his dear ones.

Alia, little Alia, whom he cherished as his own eyes, lay sick of a wasting illness none could name. Every homely charm and nostrum had been applied in vain. A famous leech from distant Damashc-esh-Shâm had bled her copiously, and stayed ten days in the house, expecting some good result. At last, seeing her life still waned, he had taken Shems-ud-dìn aside and spoken gravely.