Labakan guessed these were the men who had come to meet him, and would have liked to present their future ruler to them immediately, but suppressed his eagerness to take upon himself the rôle of prince, as the following day was to see the accomplishment of all his desires. The morning sun awakened the overjoyed tailor to the most important moment of his life, for he was to be raised from his lowly position to the side of a royal father. [Illustration: _At the end of the second day he came in sight of the Pillar._ (P. 92.)] It is true that, as he saddled his horse and prepared to ride towards the Pillar, he could not but remember what a dishonest step he was about to take, and also what pain and grief he was bringing to the real prince in blighting all the hopes he had in life, but the die was cast and he could not undo what he had already done, and his love of self whispered to his heart that he was handsome and stately enough to be the son of the mightiest of kings. Encouraged by this thought he sprang upon his horse and, summoning all the bravery he possessed, ventured to urge his steed to a gallop, and in less than a quarter of an hour he was at the foot of the hill. He dismounted and, drawing forth Prince Omar’s dagger, began to climb the hill. At the base of the Pillar stood six men, surrounding a grey-headed old man of noble and majestic appearance, who was glad in a magnificent caftan of pure gold wrapped around with a white cashmere shawl, a white turban glistening with diamonds, all of which betokened him to be a man of high estate and honour. 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.”