Mustapha saw that he had made a mistake and tried to reassure Thiuli. Just then a black slave came to tell the physician that the medicine had done no good. “Exert your whole skill, Chakamdababelda or whatever your name may be, I will make it worth your while to cure her,” shrieked Thiuli, almost weeping to think of the possible loss of his two thousand gold pieces. “I will give her a draught that is almost certain to relieve her,” answered Mustapha. “Yes, yes,” sobbed the old man, “by all means give her another draught.” Well pleased, Mustapha slipped away to fetch the sleeping draught, which he gave to the black slave to give to Fatima. Then, saying that he needed to gather a few healing herbs which grew on the banks of the lake, he hurried out of the palace. As soon as he reached the bank he took off his disguise and cast it into the water, where it floated gaily about, then he hid himself in some bushes and waited for the approach of night, when he went and hid himself in the burial place attached to Thiuli’s palace. Mustapha had scarcely been gone an hour when the black slave came and informed Thiuli that Fatima seemed at the point of death. The old man at once sent his servants to fetch the doctor, but they returned shortly, saying that he had undoubtedly fallen into the water and been drowned, for his black robe was floating upon the surface, and every now and again they had seen his grey beard bobbing up and down. Thiuli raved like a madman, tore his beard and beat his head against the wall, but all to no purpose, for shortly afterwards Fatima breathed her last. As soon as Thiuli heard that she was really dead he ordered her to be taken away to the burial place, for he could not bear having a dead person in the house. The servants who bore her there did but place her on the ground and run away, for they heard such dismal sighs and groans that they were afraid. Of course it was Mustapha who had frightened the servants, and as soon as they were out of the way he came out from his hiding place and examined the girl he supposed to be his sister. What was his horror to find that the girl who lay in the death-like trance bore no resemblance to Fatima whatever, but was a complete stranger. When he had a little recovered from his disappointment he reflected it would be cruel to leave the poor girl in the state she was in, and so he uncorked the phial he had brought containing the antidote and poured the medicine down her throat. At once she opened her eyes and began to breathe freely, but it was some little time before she could remember where she was and what had happened; but when she did she flung herself at Mustapha’s feet and thanked him for having rescued her from her horrible captivity. Mustapha questioned her as to how it chanced that he had saved her instead of his sister Fatima. [Illustration: _He poured the medicine down her throat._ (P. 48.)] She looked at him for some moments in surprise.