Kummir al Zummaun was sensibly touched at Jehaun-dar’s relation.  A thought occurred to him to search the princes’ pockets; he began with prince Amgiad’s where he found a letter open, which he read.  He no sooner recognized the hand-writing than he was chilled with horror.  He then, trembling, put his hand into that of Assad, and finding there queen Badoura’s letter, his horror was so great, that he fainted.

Never was grief equal to Kummir all Zummaun’s, when he recovered from his fit:  “Barbarous father,” cried he, “what hast thou done?  Thou hast murdered thy own children, thy innocent children!  Did not their wisdom, their modesty, their obedience, their submission to thy will in all things, their virtue, all plead in their behalf?  Blind and insensible father! dost thou deserve to live after the execrable crime thou hast committed?  I have brought this abomination on my own head; and heaven chastises me for not persevering in that aversion to women with which I was born.  And, oh ye detestable wives!  I will not, no, I will not, as ye deserve, wash off the guilt of your sins with your blood; ye are unworthy of my rage:  but I will never see you more!”

Kummir al Zummaun was a man of too much religion to break his vow:  he commanded the two queens to be lodged in separate apartments that very day, where they were kept under strong guards, and he never saw them again as long as he lived.

While the king of the isle of Ebene was afflicting himself for the loss of his sons, of whose death he thought he had been the author by his too rashly condemning them, the royal youths wandered through deserts, endeavouring to avoid all places that were inhabited, and shun every human creature.  They lived on herbs and wild fruits, and drank only rain-water, which they found in the crevices of the rocks.  They slept and watched by turns at night, for fear of wild beasts.

When they had travelled about a month, they came to the foot of a frightful mountain of black stones, and to all appearance inaccessible.  They at last espied a kind of path, but so narrow and difficult that they durst not venture to follow it:  this obliged them to go along by the foot of the mountain, in hopes of finding a more easy way to reach the summit, but could discover nothing like a path, so they were forced to return to that which they had neglected.  They still thought it would be in vain for them to attempt it.  They deliberated for a long time what they should do, and at last, encouraging one another, resolved to ascend.

The more they advanced the higher and steeper the mountain appeared, which made them think several times of giving over their enterprise.  When the one was weary, the other stopped, and they took breath together; sometimes they were both so tired, that they wanted strength to proceed:  then despairing of being able to reach the top they thought they must lie down and die of fatigue and weariness.  A few minutes after, when they found they recovered strength, they animated each other and went on.