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When Prince Selim, after his last blow
against the marauding followers of Nadab, had
flung himself into the sea, trusting to Heaven
for his preservation, it was not without a calculation
as to his chances of escape. He had
recognized the ship of Ali-Naro, and knew
that the speed of the corsair bark would soon
bring her near enough to serve him, could he
succeed in sustaining himself in the wake of the
other vessel. The sea, it is true, was rather
rough, but the prince was an excellent swimmer,
and felt confident that, as it was in the broad
light of day, he could soon make signals which
might be seen from the pursuing ship. Animated
with this hope, he at first struck boldly
out, and then, husbanding his strength, only endeavored
to keep himself above the water, whilst
he tore away a portion of his dress and waved
it to and fro above his head.

Nadab's vessel, in the meantime, had been
kept on her course, for her captain was apprehensive
that the ships which followed him might
not be very agreeable consorts, so Selim even
had the satisfaction of beholding the dark craft
from which he had escaped gradually disappearing
upon the waters, whilst with equal joy he
perceived the advance of the “Green Bird”
directly towards him. It soon became apparent,
likewise, that Ali-Naro's people observed his sig
nals, for as the vessel approached, he could perceive
a kind of tumult upon her decks, and,
presently beheld her rounded to, and a boat leaving
her sides. His heart was so elated at this
sight that the prince almost lost his senses, and
when, at length, the boat neared him, and he recognized
many well-remembered faces among the
rowers, he had barely strength to make a grasp
at the prow, and then lapsed into a death-like
swoon.

But he had been seized opportunely by the
strong-handed mariners, and lifted safely into the
boat, which was immediately rowed with all
speed toward the ship. And when, under the
restoring attentions of his old friends, Prince
Selim awoke again to animation, it was to behold
the grave face of Ali-Naro bending over him, and
hear the corsair's manly voice welcome him with
all the affection of a father.

Tenderly nursed by the old captain, Selim
soon regained his strength and spirits, and was
able to relate to his host the various fortunes
which had befallen him since they parted. Ali-Naro
was shocked to hear of the treachery of
Osmyn and Nadab, which had admitted an enemy
into their native country, but when the prince
proceeded in his narrative to recount his shipwreck,
and sojourn with the dervish, and the particulars
of Osmyn's death and the subsequent

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accusation which had been made against himself
by the wicked Nadab, the indignation of Ali-Naro
knew no limits.

“Villain!” he cried. “He deserves not to
exist upon the earth. What place is now infested
with his presence?”

“Hear me to the end,” cried Selim, and went
on to explain the providential circumstances by
which he had been cleared of the charge against
him, and the crime fixed upon its real authors.
He depicted the agony of the governor of Vashnor,
on discovering his son to be a murderer, and
related with tears how the magistrate had condemned
his first born to death, while the guilty
Nadab had escaped from the port.

“And he yet curses these seas?” interrupted
Ali-Naro. “Would that I might encounter
him!”

“You have been very near it,” remarked Selim.
“It was from his ship that I leaped into
the sea!” and he concluded his recital by an account
of the destruction of the merchantman, his
capture by the pirate Nadab, and the cruel treatment
which he had afterwards received, up to
the moment of his desperate attempt at escape,
which had happily been successful.

“O, this evil brother of yours—he must be
pursued!” exclaimed Ali-Naro, as his friend
finished his story. “But you are saved, thanks
be to Heaven! Great must be the love of Allah
to you, my son, since he has so especially manifested
his power for your constant protection.
Perhaps the many sins of Ali-Naro may be forgiven
through your prayers, my prince.”

“Say rather through your own, my friend,”
answered Selim, solemnly. “Allah never is deaf
to earnest supplication.”

“I have sought to pray much of late,” said
the corsair, leaning his forehead upon his hand,
and fixing his eyes upon the deek. As he thus
sat, Selim had an opportunity of observing the
captain's features, and saw that a great change
had taken place since he had last beheld them.
The old man's cheek was sunken, his hair which
had been black, was silvered, and there was an
air of deep melancholy in all his manner, as
though a weight pressed continually on his
spirits. The prince of Guzan was much affected
on noticing this, and clasping his friend's
hand, he said:

“Ali-Naro! I perceive that you dwell too
much on the past! Let me counsel you to turn
your hopes to the future—to an existence better
and nobler than your previous life. Do I offend
you, my friend?”

“No, go on, prince! Let me listen to you!”
cried Ali-Naro. “I have need of your counsel
and sympathy!”

The prince of Guzan saw that the corsair's
heart was altered greatly from its former state of
despairing indifference or recklessness. The
blow which had deprived him of his son had, at
first hardened his feelings and rendered him desperate
of the future, but time and thought, joined
to his intimacy with Selim, had awakened softer
emotions in his bosom, and he was now prepared
to profit by the gentle monitions of his young
friend. The prince did not fail to draw a parallel
between the case of Ali-Naro and that of the
governor of Vashnor, in both of which a beloved
son was lost to a devoted father; and perhaps,
the most quiet slumber which the corsair had
ever experienced, visited his wearied senses when
he sought his pillow that night, after listening
to the story, and being soothed by the counsels
of the pious prince of Guzan.

The ship of Nadab, owing to the delay which
was necessary in rescuing Selim, had, in the
meanwhile, succeeded in gaining such an advance,
that, at the setting in of night, no glimpse
of her was to be seen in all the line of horizon;
so that Ali-Naro was forced very reluctantly to
give up the pursuit, and recall his two smaller
vessels to alter their course, and proceed, with
the “Green Bird” to the Isle of Eagles.

The next morning the old captain announced
to his crew the death of their comrade Moussa,
and Prince Selim, at the same time, paid a
tribute to the poor fellow's memory, which gained
him new favor with all his old friends the
corsairs. Soon afterwards, they reached the
well-known island, in which the prince of Guzan
had sojourned so pleasantly after his former preservation
by Ali-Naro. Everything here remained
as before; the castle crowned its wood-encircled
hill, the streamlets danced in beauty to the
plain, and the radiant flowers greeted Selim with
their former luxuriousness and fragrance. The
prince welcomed the rest and peace of the quiet
isle with a gladness which is only felt by those
who have experienced the trials and perils which,
had been his lot since his previous visit.

Ali-Naro also seemed to share in the satisfaction
of his friend. His countenance wore a
cheerful look, and he replied with animation to
the warm greetings of his friends upon the isle.
Selim was rejoiced at these signs of his friend's

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returning peace of mind, as they argued happiness
yet in store for the old corsair.

A few weeks' stay at the Isle of Eagles sufficed
to recruit the health of the adventurers, and
Ali-Naro then avowed his intention of setting
forth once more in pursuit of the pirate Nadab.

“In my youthful days,” said the corsair, “I
allowed no murderous villains to infest these seas.
An open freebooter myself, with a sovereignty of
my own in this rocky isle, I made war and exacted
tribute in my own way, but no one can
say that Ali-Naro ever shed blood wantonly, or
disturbed the peaceful trader who paid tithes in
recognition of his claims as ocean-king. It shall
not be said that, in my age, I permit a marauder
to disturb those whom I protect in these seas.
Therefore I am resolved to pursue this piratebrother
of yours.”

“But, my friend, Ali-Naro,” said Selim.
“You will not pursue this unhappy man to
avenge my injuries? Much as Nadab has wronged
me, I cannot forget that he is my father's
son.”

“He deserves no mercy at your hands,” cried
Ali-Naro, something of his ancient spirit gleaming
in his eye. “And were I to judge him, the
death of Moussa might make me relentless. I
will leave him to you, prince, should he fall into
our hands.”

The “Green Bird” left the Isle of Eagles,
with a fair breeze, and all her crew in the best
of spirits. Ali-Naro seemed to have recovered
the life and vigor of youth, and passed much of
his time in relating to Selim the various adventures
that had marked his eventful career, both
on sea and land. In this manner many days
were agreeably passed whilst cruising up and
down the Indian Ocean, until at last, one day,
the mariner stationed at the topmast announced
a strange sail, resembling the vessel he had before
pursued.

Ali-Naro immediately crowded all the canvass
that his ship could carry, and in a brief
space of time hauled closely into the track of the
other craft, which, with great exultation, he
soon decided to be the very bark which had before
escaped him.

Selim, too, recognized the vessel as the one
which had captured the merechantman, and his
assurance of the fact stimulated the “Green
Bird's” company to still greater exertion in order
to overtake the chase, which was almost as
swift a sailer as the corsair's ship itself. Every
shred of canvass was bent upon the masts, and
the great oar-sweeps, used to assist the speed of
vessels in those seas, were manned by the corsairs
with alacrity. The result was that about
midday, the “Green Bird” ran alongside and
cast her grapnels upon the ship of Nadab, which
had run up the black flag, and seemed resolved
to resist an attempt at capture.

Ali-Naro rejoiced at this, for he had feared
that Nadab was too cowardly to make a stand,
and that the pirates would therefore fall too easy
a prize, in which case he might find it necessary
to deal out that vengeance in cool blood which
he would rather should be wreaked in the heat of
conflict; for the corsair was determined that an
example should be made of these his piraterivals,
which should effectually deter others
from following their example of plunder in the
Indian Seas. The old captain considered himself
not only paramount, but, inasmuch as his
power had long been recognized, and the tribute
which he claimed cheerfully paid by most of
the Indian merchants, he felt it his duty to protect
their commerce from the attacks of new
marauders.

It was, therefore, with much of his ancient
fiery spirit, that he shouted the war-cry to his
crew, and rushed at their head to board the
pirate vessel. The corsairs, eager for the conflict,
climbed in a moment over the ship's sides,
and engaged in battle with their enemies. In
vain did the captain of Nadab's bark, and even
the pirate-prince himself, fight at the head of
their followers, and dispute the deck with unexpected
determination. The corsairs not only
outnumbered them, but were men who had never
known defeat, and they speedily swept like a
torrent along the main deeks of the vessel, cutting
down and trampling over the pirates in
every direction. Ali-Naro saw presently that the
fight was decided, and the victory his own. Dozens
of the foemen were lying dead and wounded
on the planks, whilst others, disarmed and bound
implored mercy, and others, escaping to the hold,
sought only to delay their destruction by a despairing
resistance. The captain of the pirates
lay at the old corsair's feet, struck down by the
first blow which Ali-Naro had dealt, and of all
the ferocious followers of Nadab, none could
now avert the fate which threatened the wicked
prince.

Selim looked around, to discover his wretched
brother, but the latter was not to be seen; and
it was not till all the pirate-crew, who survived
the combat, had been safely secured in the ship's

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hold, that the felon-prince was at last recognized,
garbed as a slave, in which disguise he had been
dragged from a hiding-place in the cabin.

But his disguise availed not the treacherous
Nadab. Dragged to the deck of the “Green
Bird” he lifted up his eyes only to encounter the
bright glance of Selim fixed sternly on his pallid
face.

Ali-Naro, standing beside his friend, while
the fierce corsairs stood ready to obey the slightest
motion of either, looked frowningly upon the
defeated pirate, and then, turning to Selim,
said:

“Prince, I have promised you that this man's
fate should be decided by yourself. He is in
your hands, and you know that my followers are
likewise yours!” Saying this the corsair folded
his arms, and awaited the action of Selim.

Nadab heard the words of the old chief which
informed him that his doom was to be decided
by the brother whom he had so greatly injured,
and whose life he had lately attempted to take.
But this cunning prince knew the magnanimous
nature of Selim, and he did not despair of moving
his compassion. Pausing but a moment to
meditate his course, he clasped his hands together,
and then threw himself at the feet of the
prince of Guzan.

“O, forgive—forgive me, Selim!” he cried,
in accents of terror. “Forget not we are sons
of the same father—that the same mother gave
us nourishment from her breasts.”

“Wretch!” cried Selim, as he heard these
words of his unnatural brother. “How have you
remembered your relationship to me? Degraded
prince! by what right do you invoke the memory
of our noble father!”

“But, we are yet of the same blood!” cried
the ingrate. as he grovelled upon the deck at
his brother's feet. “You will not doom me to
death unprepared. I promise to be your slave,
Selim—to serve you faithfully!”

“I cannot trust a traitor to his country,” returned
the prince.

“Alas, the deeds of Osmyn were not mine!”
cried Nadab. “It was his treachery that—”

“O, wretch! would you then blacken the
memory of him you slew?” cried Selim.

“But I am wretched—I am agonized!” murmured
Nadab. “My poor brother's death has al
most crazed me—I would repent—I would
repent.”

On hearing these words, uttered wildly by the
unhappy man at his feet, Selim was moved with
compassion. He believed that Nadab was indeed
penetrated with remorse for his crimes, and
the conviction made him desirous of easing the
wretched brother's terror.

“Do you then swear, Nadab, to amend you?
life, and seek to make reparation for the misery
you have inflicted upon others? Answer me
this.”

“I do! I do!” gasped Nabab. “I swear to
change my course of life, and seek to repent of
my manifold crimes.”

“Rise, then, and be faithful to your oath!”
said Selim, extending his hand to his brother,
who crouched upon the deck. “Rise, I pardon
you!”

Hardly had this scene been thus concluded,
when a commotion on board the pirate-bark,
which yet remained fast to the “Green Bird,”
announced that something important was taking
place. Ali-Naro immediately advanced toward
the other vessel, whilst Prince Selim gave the
trembling Nadab in charge of one of the crew,
with orders to treat him well.

The tumult which Ali-Naro had heard now
subsided into low murmurs, and, the mariners
making way for their commander as he approached,
opened a way to the cabin of Nadab's
ship, where, in a curtained recess that had been
concealed from view during the first search,
throughout the vessel, reclined upon a pile of
silken cushions a maiden, beautiful as an angel,
who, with closed eyes, seemed either wrapped in
sleep or death. The old corsair pressed forward,
and tenderly approaching the unconscious lady,
raised her white hand from the bosom which it
pressed, and discovered that the pulse yet throbbed
with life.

“Hasten! bring cordials hither!” cried the
chief, “and bid the Prince Selim to come!”

A mariner immediately sprang to obey his captain's
orders, and at the same moment Selim
made his appearance on the deck of Nadab's
ship. A short consultation was held regarding
the lovely female who it was evident, had been
plunged into a deadly swoon, doubtless terrified
by the fierce conflict which had raged above. Selim,
on his part, could searcely withdraw his
glance from the lady's countenance, which,
though pale, was yet transcendently lovely. She
lay before him, half-buried in the silken pillows,
like a vision of some houri asleep in the halls of
Paradise; and, as with trembling fingers, he
sprinkled upon her forehead some perfumed
water brought by the mariner, and applied to her

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beautiful lips a few drops of cordial, he almost
feared lest, on opening her eyes, she should vanish
at once from his enraptured sight.

Thus the prince of Guzan knelt beside the fair
unknown, watching anxiously for some sign of
returning animation, and holding closely within
his own her delicate right hand; and thus he
gazed upon her face, when the princess of Divonduron,
for it was she, opened her lustrous eyes
and turned them upon a countenance whose
majestic features she well-remembered. The
sight accomplished more than cordials or restoratives
to recall her scattered senses. She uttered
a low cry, and pressed her eyes with her
white fingers, as if fearful that their vision deceived
her. Then, starting suddenly from the
cushions, she clasped her hands together, and
threw herself at Selim's feet.

“O, leave me not! O, protect me from these
cruel men!” she murmured. “O do not go
from me!” And she gazed up into the prince's
face with a look so earnest and pleading, that
Selim felt the tears rush to his eyes with the sudden
emotion that thrilled his heart.

“Leave you?” he cried, as he clasped the
gentle hands which were twined supplicatingly
together. “Beautiful being—I will never leavs
you!”