There was another being whose joy at Komel’s recovery of her speech seemed, if possible, more extravagant even than the Sultan’s, and far more remarkable in manifestation.  When the idiot boy first heard her voice, he started, and crouching like an animal, crept away to a spot whence he could observe her without himself being seen.  By degrees he drew nearer, and finally received her kind tokens without any evidences of fear.  And by degrees, as she spoke to him and tutored her words to his simple capacity, he seemed to be filled with the very ecstasy of joy, and ran and leaped like a hound newly loosed from confinement.  Then he would return, and taking her hand, place it upon his forehead and temples, and then curling his body into a ball, lie motionless by her side.

“You love this young Circassian, and would leave me and your present home for him?” asked the Sultan, as Komel entered the reception saloon in answer to a summons he had sent to her.

“I do love him, excellency,” replied the slave, honestly; “we were children together, and I cannot remember the time when I loved him not, for we were always as brother and sister.”

“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?”

“Ah! excellency, you are too generous, too kind-hearted, to detain me here against my wishes.  I know this by the gentle and considerate care I have already received at your hands.”

“You mistake, you mistake,” repeated the Sultan, earnestly; “that was because I loved you so well, Komel.  I saw in you, not only the transparent beauty with which Heaven has endowed your race, but a soul and intelligence that won my heart.  Your infirmity, now so suddenly removed, demanded for you every consideration, but now aroused by the opposition that circumstances seem to have woven around me, other feelings are fast becoming rooted in my breast.  Shall such as I am be thwarted in my wish by an humble mountaineer of the Caucasus?”