--_Longfellow._


Many months after the departure of Yusuf from Persia a solitary rider on
a swift dromedary reached the extreme northern boundary of El Hejaz, the
province that stretches over a considerable portion of western Arabia.
His face was brown like leather from exposure, and his clothes were worn
and travel-stained, yet it scarcely required a second glance to
recognize the glittering eyes of the Magian priest.

It seemed as if the excitement of danger and the long days of toil and
privation had at last begun to tell upon his iron frame. His eye,
accustomed by the fear of robbers to dart its dark glances restlessly,
was less keen than usual; his head was drooped downward upon his breast,
and his whole attitude betokened bodily fatigue. His camel, too, went
less swiftly, and picked its way, with low, plaintive moans, over the
rough and precipitous path which led into a wild and weird glen.

It was evening, and the shadows fell in fantastic streaks and blotches
across the arid valley, through whose barren soil huge, detached rocks
of various-colored sandstone rose in eerie, irregular masses, veritable
castles of genii of the uncanny spot.

Yusuf looked uneasily around, but neither sight nor sound of life was
near, and he again allowed his faithful beast to slacken its pace and
crop a few leaves of the coarse camel-thorn, the only sign of vegetation
in the deserted place.

A few trees, however, could be seen in the distance, and he urged his