Aphiz and Komel loved each other now, as they never could have done, but for the strange vicissitudes which they had shared together.  They had grown to be necessary to each other’s being, and even when absent from each other for a few hours, in soul they were still together.  And hand in hand, side by side, they still wandered about the wild mountain scenery of their native hills.  They had no thoughts but of love, no desires that were not in unison, no throbbing of their breasts that did not echo a kindred token in each other’s hearts.  Life, kindred, the whole world were seen by them through the soft ideal hues of ever present affection.

And when, at last, with full consent from her parents, Aphiz led Komel a blushing bride to the altar, and Selim and Zillah supported them on either side, how happy were they all!

Years pass on in the hills of Circassia as in all the rest of the world beside.  Sunshine and shadow glance athwart its crowning peaks, the waves of the Black Sea lave its shores, its daughters still dream of a home among the Turks, and the secret cargoes are yet run from Anapa up the Golden Horn.  The slave bazaar of the Ottoman capital still presents its bevy of fair creatures from the north, and the Sultan’s agents are ever on the alert for the most beautiful to fill the monarch’s harem.  The Brother of the Sun chooses his favorites from out a score of lovely Georgians and Circassians, but he does not forget her who had so entranced his heart, so enslaved his affections, and then so mysteriously escaped from his gilded cage.

But as time passes on the scene changes—­rosy-cheeked children cling about Aphiz’s knees, and a dear, black-eyed representative of her mother clasps her tiny arms about his neck.  And so, too, are Selim and Zillah blessed, and their children play and laugh together, causing an ever constant flow of delight to the parents’ hearts.

There ever watches over them one sober, quiet eye—­one whom the children love dearly, for he joins them in all their games and sports, and astonishes and delights them by his wonderful feats of agility.  It is the half-witted creature, who had followed and loved Komel so well.  As years have passed over him, the sun-light of reason gradually crept into his brain, and the poor boy saw a new world before him.  His only care, his only thought, his constant delight seeming to be these lovely children.

The events of the past are often recurred to by Komel and her husband, around the quiet hearthstone that forms the united home of Selim, Zillah, and themselves, and the sun sets in the west, shedding its parting rays over no happier circle than theirs.  Nor does Komel now regret that she was once the Sultan’s slave.

As now he lays down his pen, let the author hope that he has won the kind consideration and remembrance of those who have read his story of the Circassian slave.

The end.