We went on in silence for some time. I was too despondent to say a word, and all my thoughts turned toward Almah, who was now separated from me--perhaps forever. The other athalebs went ahead, at long intervals apart, flying in a straight line, while ours was last. Layelah said nothing. She sat in front of me; her back was turned toward me; she held in her hands the reins, which hung quite loose at first, but after a while she drew them up, and seemed to be directing our course. For some time I did not notice anything in particular, for my eyes were fixed upon the athaleb immediately before us, upon which was seated the loved form of Almah, which I could easily recognize. But our athaleb flew slowly, and I noticed that we were falling behind. I said this to Layelah, but she only remarked that it was fatigued with its long journey. To this I objected that the others had made as long a journey, and insisted that she should draw nearer. This she at first refused to do; but at length, as I grew persistent, she complied, or pretended to do so. In spite of this, however, we again fell behind, and I noticed that this always happened when the reins were drawn tight. On making this discovery I suddenly seized both reins and let them trail loose, whereupon the athaleb at once showed a perceptible increase of speed, which proved that there was no fatigue in him whatever. This I said to Layelah. She acquiesced with a sweet smile, and taking the reins again, she sat around so as to face me, and said: "You are very quick. It is no use to try to deceive you, Atam-or: I wish to fall behind." "Why?" "To save you." "To save me?" "Yes. I can take you to the land of the Orin. Now is the time to escape from death. If you go back you must surely die; but now, if you will be guided by me, I can take you to the land of the Orin. There they all hate death, they love life, they live in the light. There you will find those who are like yourself; there you can love and be happy." "But what of Almah?" I asked. Layelah made a pretty gesture of despair. "You are always talking of Almah," said she. "What is Almah to you? She is cold, dull, sad! She never will speak. Let her go." "Never!" said I. "Almah is worth more than all the world to me." Layelah sighed. "I can never, never, never," said she, "get from you the least little bit of a kind word--even after all that I have done for you, and when you know that I would lie down and let you trample me under your feet if it gave you any pleasure." "Oh, that is not the question at all," said I. "You are asking me to leave Almah--to be false to her--and I cannot." "Among the Kosekin," said Layelah, "it is the highest happiness for lovers to give one another up." "I am not one of the Kosekin," said I. "I cannot let her go away--I cannot let her go back to the amir--to meet death alone. If she dies she shall see me by her side, ready to die with her." At this Layelah laughed merrily.