Having no longer any enemies to fear in the Syrian desert, Sheik Ibrahim parted company for a time from the Drayhy, and went to Hems to purchase merchandise and write to Europe. During our stay in that place he left me perfectly at liberty to seek amusement, and to recover from all my fatigues; and I made daily excursions into the country in company with some of my young friends, doubly enjoying this life of pleasure from its contrast with that which I had led amongst the Bedouins. But, alas! my joy was to be of short duration, and was soon converted into bitter anguish. A messenger, who had been to Aleppo to fetch remittances for M. Lascaris, brought me a letter from my mother, couched in terms of the deepest affliction, and announcing the death of my elder brother by the plague. Grief made her writing almost incoherent. She had been ignorant of my destiny for nearly the last three years, and conjured me, if still in existence, to go to her. This dreadful intelligence deprived me of the use of my senses, and for three days I was unconscious where I was, and refused all nourishment. Thanks to the attentive care of M. Lascaris, I gradually recovered my recollection; but all that I could obtain from him was permission to write to my poor mother. Neither was I allowed to despatch my letter till the eve of our departure, for fear she should come herself to seek me. But I pass over the detail of my personal feelings, in which the reader can have no interest, to return to our travels.