"There are not many of thy nation, Komel, who would choose an humble
mountaineer to a Sultan," said the monarch, with a bitter intonation
of voice.

"Alas! excellency," she replied, "too many of my untutored
countrywomen, being brought up from their infancy to consider it as
their infallible lot, make a barter of their hearts for gold. Such
know no true promptings of love."

"You are happy and contented here, you want for nothing, you are the
mistress of this broad palace. Bid me send thy countryman away
loaded with gold, and we will live always together."

"Excellency, I am not happy here, and though I participate in all
the splendor you so liberally furnish for me, my heart, alas! is
ever straying back to my humble home."

"This feeling of discontent will soon die away, Komel, and you will
be happy again," said the Sultan, toying with her delicate hands
which had been tipped at the finger ends by the Nubian slaves with
the henna dye.

"Never, excellency, my early home and my heart will always be
together," she replied, with a sigh.

"Nevertheless, Komel," continued the Sultan in a decided tone of
voice, "you are my slave, and I love you. This being the case, think
you I shall be very ready to part with you?"