“‘O, how good you are!’ she exclaimed; ’and I’ll plant a rose-tree near it, and they shall mingle their sweets; for our love and care of them will make them live together without envy.  Every thing should love each other.  I love every tree, and fruit, and flower.’

“Still I observed, as her thin robes were disarranged, that her little downy bosom fluttered like an imprisoned bird panting for liberty; and, to turn her thoughts from what had pained her, I said,—­’Do not fear, dear Zela.  That is the last stream we have to cross; and then we shall ride over that beautiful plain.’

“‘O, stranger!’ she replied, ’Zela never feared any thing, but her father, when angry; and then, those who feared not to gaze on the lightning, when all the world appeared to be on fire, feared to look in his face.  Then his voice was louder than the thunder, and his lance deadlier than the thunderbolt.  Last evening, when you talked to that tall man, who is so gentle, you looked like my father; and I thought you were going to kill him, and I wanted to tell you not; for I have read his eyes, and he loves you much.  It is very bad to be angry with those that love us.’

“’Oh, you mean Aston!  No, dear, I was not angry with him.  I love him too.  We were talking of the horrid cruelties practised on the poor slaves here; and I was angry at that.’

“’I wish I knew your language!  How I should have loved to hear you!  And then I should have slept; but being ignorant of that, I did nothing but weep, because I thought I saw you angry with one that loves you.’”

* * * * *

“It was only in Zela’s absence that I could dwell on her portraiture.  She had just turned her fourteenth year; and though certainly not considered, even in the east, as matured, yet, forced like a flower, fanned by the sultry west wind, into early developement, her form, like its petals bursting through the bud, gave promise of the rarest beauty and sweetness.  Nurtured in the shade, her hue was pale, but contrasted with the date-coloured women about her, the soft and transparent clearness of her complexion was striking; and it was heightened by clouds of the darkest hair.  She looked like a solitary star unveiled in the night, The breadth and depth of her clear and smooth forehead were partly hidden by the even silky line from which the hair arose, fell over in rich profusion, and added to its brightness; as did the glossy, well-defined eye-brow, boldly crossing the forehead, slightly waved at the outer extremities, but not arched.  Her eyes were full, even for an orientalist, but neither sparkling nor prominent, soft as the thrush’s.  It was only when moved by joy, surprise, or sorrow, that the star-like iris dilated and glistened, and then its effect was most eloquent and magical.  The distinct ebon-lashes which curtained them were singularly long and beautiful; and when she slept they pressed against her pale cheeks, and were arched upwards.