Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, 'We are free.'"

--_Tennyson._


During all this time, there was no news of release for poor Nathan. In
his close cell, ventilated by one little window, and, in the fetid odor
of its air, he pined away. A low fever had rendered him exceedingly
weak; he could not eat the wretched food of the prison; his face grew
haggard, and his bones shone through the flesh with almost skeleton-like
distinctness. Yet no murmur passed his lips.

From his window, set high in the wall, he could see the sun as it rose
over Abu Kubays; he could catch the occasional glint of a bright wing as
a dove or a swallow flitted past beneath the white sky; and he said,
"God is still good, blessed be his name!"

Yet the grief of being separated from his loved ones, and the
uncertainty of their welfare, preyed upon his mind, almost shaking the
trust which had upheld him so long. It was a time of trial for poor
Nathan, yet his faith came forth from the trial untarnished.

Yusuf sought in vain to gain admission to the poor prisoner: the utmost
that he could accomplish was to pay the attendant for carrying one
brief message to him, assuring him that his wife and children were well,
and cared for.

The mystery of the gold cup was still unsolved. One day, however, when
going down one of the busiest streets, Yusuf saw, at some distance, a