'Whatever be the justice of the case,' said Honain to Abdallah, 'art thou ready to part with this ring for a thousand dirhems?'
'Most certainly,' said Abdallah. 'And thou, lad, if the decision be in thy favour, wilt thou take for the ring double the worth at which the jeweller prizes it?'
'My lord, I have spoken the truth. I cannot part with that ring for the palace of the Caliph.'
'The truth for once is triumphant,' said Honain. 'Boy, the ring is thine; and for thee, thou knave,' turning to Abdallah, 'liar, thief, and slanderer!--for thee the bastinado,[21] which thou destinedst for this innocent youth. Ibrahim, see that he receives five hundred. Young pilgrim, thou art no longer destitute or friendless. Follow me to my palace.'
The arched chamber was of great size and beautiful proportion. The ceiling, encrusted with green fretwork, and studded with silver stars, rested upon clustered columns of white and green marble. In the centre of a variegated pavement of the same material, a fountain rose and fell into a green porphyry basin, and by the side of the fountain, upon a couch of silver, reposed Honain.
He raised his eyes from the illuminated volume on which he had been long intent; he clapped his hands, and a Nubian slave advanced, and, folding his arms upon his breast, bowed in silence before his lord. 'How fares the Hebrew boy, Analschar?'
'Master, the fever has not returned. We gave him the potion; he slumbered for many hours, and has now awakened, weak but well.'
'There is nothing stranger than sympathy,' soliloquised the physician of the Caliph, with a meditative air; 'all resolves itself into this principle, and I confess this learned doctor treats it deeply and well. An erudite spirit truly, and an eloquent pen; yet he refines too much. 'Tis too scholastic. Observation will teach us more than dogma. Meditating upon my passionate youth, I gathered wisdom. I have seen so much that I have ceased to wonder. However we doubt, there is a mystery beyond our penetration. And yet 'tis near our grasp. I sometimes deem a step, a single step, would launch us into light. Here comes my patient. The rose has left his cheek, and his deep brow is wan and melancholy. Yet 'tis a glorious visage, Meditation's throne; and Passion lingers in that languid eye. I know not why, a strong attraction draws me to this lone child.