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. The unfortunate prince had his hands firmly bound and was placed upon a camel whilst a guard rode on either side of him to watch his every movement. The aged prince was named Saaud, and he was Sultan of the Wechabites. For a long time he had been childless and then one son had been born to him. But the astrologers whom he had consulted as to the boy’s future told him that until he had passed the age of twenty-two he would be in constant danger of being supplanted by an enemy, and therefore he had entrusted the care of his child to his old and valued friend Elfi Bey, and had passed two-and-twenty anxious years awaiting his son’s coming. The Sultan told his supposed son this story and added how pleased and more than contented he was with his appearance and bearing. On reaching the Sultan’s own country they were greeted with shouts of joy by the whole populace, for the news of the prince’s coming had spread like wildfire through all the villages and towns. Arches of flowers and greenery spanned the roads, and tapestries of gorgeous colours decked the houses, and all the people shouted praise to the Prophet for sending them such a handsome prince. No wonder the tailor’s heart swelled with pride and joy, whilst Prince Omar felt more unhappy than ever at his sad state. The air resounded with cries of “Omar,” but he who had the right to the name rode unnoticed through the throng, except when now and then some one asked who it was that was bound and guarded so securely. Then the answers his guards made caused his heart to sink: “He is but a mad tailor,” they said.