She neither weeps nor laments. Her lips are mute, and her eyes shed nq tsars. Is this a time to weep, when Youssouf Bey is suffering and needs her care and attention? No, at such a time a woman must be strong. She will have time enough for tears and lamentation in her after-life.

The fearful gash on his forehead bears silent evidence of this. She has often seen similar wounds, and bound them up herself.

She well knows that Youssouf Bey is wounded unto death--that there is no hope of recovery: Yet she does not weep. With Allah all is possible, and he may be gracious. A miracle may occur; Youssouf's youthful vigor and his heroic nature may yet vanquish Death. Perhaps her love may preserve him. Grant, merciful Allah, that it be so!

Her women now come with other injured Mamelukes, who are placed on the mats Sitta Nefysseh had caused to be spread out for them in the adjoining room.

Sitta Nefysseh forbids any one to enter the room where Youssouf lies.

"He needs repose," said she, stepping into the adjoining room to see that the other wounded were being well cared for. "Youssouf Bey needs repose. Be still, move noiselessly, and do not disturb his sleep! It may be the sleep of death. Be still, close the doors and draw the curtains, that no noise may reach him!"

It is perfectly quiet in the room where Youssouf Bey lies. Sitta Nefysseh kneels beside him. Her hands folded in silent prayer, her eyes fastened on his countenance, she bends over him and breathes her warm, glowing breath through his cold lips, to give him of her life, and bathes his cold brow with her warm tears.

Sitta Nefysseh's prayerful, tearful entreaties are heard. Youssouf Bey awakens from his death-like slumber. Love has recalled the spirit to the body. Love opens his eyes and permits him to see and recognize her who is bowed over him, regarding him with loving tenderness.