The monarch slowly recounted the principal incidents of their acquaintance, and after giving an account of the battle and the victory which Meher had snatched from the very hands of defeat, he said: “I have consulted with my principal counselors, and we have decided that the only suitable reward which we can confer upon the unknown Persian youth is to give him the Princess Nahīd in marriage.” Meher fell upon his knees in an ecstacy of gratitude, and it was some time before he could even thank the king for his great kindness; but he could not prove himself further unworthy of this great trust, and after expressing, as best he could, his appreciation of the priceless gift, he proceeded with true manliness, to tell his whole story to King Keiwan. He told of his parentage, his claims to the crown of Persia, his unchanging friendship with Mūshteri, who was exiled for his sake, of his determination to find his friend, and his great appreciation of the kindness of his royal host. Nothing was hidden in this manly confession; the scene in the garden was given with unfaltering truthfulness, even while the narrator watched the dark frown that was gathering upon the brow of Keiwan. The angry king listened in dismay, though he could but admire the moral courage of the prince, who, when he had finished, threw himself upon the clemency of Keiwan. There was a silence that seemed to bode little good to Meher, and then the king said: “I have seen how thou could’st forgive, even a foe; I have seen thee plead for Kāra Khān, who would gladly have taken thy life, if it were in his power; a king cannot afford to be less magnanimous than thyself—arise and receive my forgiveness. But the grateful prince remained at his feet and there expressed his devout thankfulness. In this long and candid interview he also told Keiwan that while he held in his heart a great love for the beautiful princess, and nothing in life could give him greater joy than to call her his own, still he dared not give up, even for her sake, his search for the friend of his childhood, who might even now be in jeopardy on account of his loyalty. Again he braved the royal displeasure, by seeming to undervalue the priceless gift, even while his own heart cried out for his love. Again that ominous frown passed over the brow of the king, and his words were followed by a silence so profound that he could hear his own heart- beats. After a time the king spoke, but only to chide him for his ill- chosen friendship, only to tell him that his hope was useless, and to urge him to give up the fruitless search. Meher replied that it was impossible—that he could not be happy in heaven itself, if he had betrayed the trust of his friend, and whatever might be the cost, he must either find him or give his life to the unavailing search; he was then dismissed from the king’s presence, and went away feeling that although he was under the royal displeasure, he must still be true to himself.