Yhahil had imbibed, as deeply as the son of Beiram, the impressions of love. “Yhahil,” said the Mahomedan one day, when they were seated in a veranda that overlooked a garden at the back of the house, “do you think you could be happy to quit your parents?” “No; I see no circumstance that should render it necessary for me to quit them.” “Surely you are not serious?” “In truth I am. Why should I leave them under any temporal change that you can imagine?” “Suppose you should be married?” “They could still be with me.” “But your husband might not like them.” “Then he could not like me. They who love truly feel kindly towards those who are dear to the objects of their love. If not, their hearts are hollow.” “But there are other unions which would render it impossible for your parents to live with you.” “What may those unions be? I know of none.” “Suppose you were living with the objection of your affection in an alliance of fervent attachment without being bound by the compulsory obligations of marriage.” “I could never be in such a position, therefore your argument is of no weight.” “Is there no man, Yhahil, with whom you would consent to pass your life, free from those civil restraints which so frequently chill the warm glow of hearts, and render wedlock a condition of dull monotonous dissatisfaction?” “That may be, but with all its evils, these, when weighed against the good, are lightest in the balance, and I would rather be a Pariah’s wife than an Omrah’s harlot.” “I thought you had determined never to wed a Pariah--your father has told me as much.” “And he told you truly--it will therefore follow that I am determined never to become the harlot of an Omrah.” “Yhahil,” said the minister’s son, “I need scarcely say that I love you; but you will hardly imagine with what fervour, and let me ask you to state candidly if that love is reciprocated?” “Omrah, I am a girl unhackneyed in the ways of the world, and know little of the artifices of life. I am not aware, therefore, that any motive can exist why I should not readily confess to you that my heart has received a strong impression from your delicate attentions to me; but let me assure you at once, for I have a disquieting suspicion, that, the moment they cease to be delicate, my respect for you will likewise cease, and a woman’s love without her respect is a jewel in so bad a setting as only to disgrace the wearer.” “Yhahil, you cannot imagine that I can fail to respect one who has so entirely engrossed my affections. I love you with an earnestness which death only can subdue; but you know there are certain social impediments----” he hesitated. The blood mantled to the beautiful Pariah’s brow. “Proceed,” she said, “why do you hesitate? Let me hear what you propose: there should be no disguise after the mutual confessions which have passed between us.”