They reached the land, and as soon as they had disembarked, Indah waded as far as he could go into the water, pushing the boat before him, and then he let it drift away down the river, to be dashed to pieces in the cataracts, and never to be found as a witness to the course the fugitives had taken.

The night was very dark, and the travellers knew not where to seek for shelter, or where to find a conveyance for themselves and their baggage. They therefore removed to some distance from the shore, and rested behind some high sand-banks, which they were assured would effectually conceal them from the view of any who should look out from Philae when daylight returned.

In this retired spot they remained until the first streaks of golden light appeared beyond the distant mountain-chain. Overcome by fatigue and excitement, Claudia and Medora slept on a bed of warm dry sand, and trusted to the vigilance of Alypius and Indah, who kept a careful watch, and often mounted the bank to observe whether any object were moving across the calm surface of the water.

As daylight broke Claudia and her sister awoke, and started up with a feeling of terror and expectation, and hardly knowing where they were, or what had occurred to bring them to so strange a place.

The happy countenance of Alypius which met their gaze quickly reassured them, and they immediately entered into council as to their future proceedings. The increasing light showed them a distant Arab encampment on the level plain that stretched away to the foot of the mountains.

To this camp they resolved to repair, and throw themselves on the hospitality of the sheik, hoping that he would not refuse

them shelter and protection, and perhaps also a safe escort to some village where they could engage a conveyance towards Thebes.

They immediately commenced their walk, and before they reached the outskirts of the scattered camp, the glorious sun had risen on the earth, and all looked bright and animated. The encampment was evidently on the stir; but as yet they could not distinguish any of the individuals who were moving about among the low, dark tents.

A clump of low bushes lay in their way to the Arab camp; and as they approached it they heard a sad, moaning sound, that attracted the attention of Medora. She left the party, and hastened to the spot whence the sounds proceeded, and saw a young boy lying on the ground, with his face buried in his hands, while deep sobs shook his slight frame. Medora stooped and laid her hand on his shoulder, and in a low, sweet voice asked him why he wept so bitterly.

The boy started violently, sprang to his feet, and gazed at Medora with his large dark eyes, from which the scalding tears of outraged feeling were flowing down his pale, sallow cheeks. It was the boy who had so greatly interested her friends the day that the boat was taken up the cataracts.

For a moment his sobs ceased, and a ray of pleasure passed over his features while he met the look of compassionate sympathy that beamed in Medora's eyes; but then, as if some painful contrast rushed into his mind, a fresh burst of grief overpowered him, and, straining his little hands over his eyes, he trembled with suppressed sobs.

There was something inexpressibly touching in the sorrow of

this child. He seemed to be alone in his grief, with no gentle hand to dry his tears, no loving voice to whisper peace to the poor young breaking heart. Alas for the unknown and untold sufferings of sensitive and friendless children! Surely a desolate child who feels his desolation, a young spirit that is conscious of being crushed and oppressed, is among the most piteous things on earth! It is a sight to make an angel weep. But, thanks be unto Him who governs all things, there will be no oppression, no desolation in that home beyond the sky, where our Elder Brother will reign for ever, and where all will be one holy, happy, loving family!

Had this Arab boy ever heard of that home in heaven? Had he any recollection of ever having had a home, a blessed, happy home on earth? If he had, it only made his tears flow more abundantly and more bitterly, as he tried to reply to the questions which Medora put to him in Egyptian. To her surprise, the child seemed perfectly to understand her, and looked up eagerly and intelligently as she spoke what must, she thought, be a strange and unfamiliar language to him.

At length, in reply to Medora's repeated inquiries as to the cause of his grief, he said slowly, and as if he felt both shame and pain at the admission,—

"He struck me—he has often done so, and he drove me from the tent. But he did more, he cursed my mother!"

As he said these words, the boy looked up with proud indignation, and then added,—

"He told me I was the son of a Christian dog! Could I bear that? Oh that I were old enough to defend myself, or to run away from the camp and earn my own bread!"

"But your mother? you would not leave her?" said Medora, soothingly.

"What do you mean, lady ?" said the boy, wonderingly.

"Is not the sheik your father?" asked Medora, with increasing interest. "And does not your mother dwell in those tents? and is she not a Christian captive ?"

"Oh no," replied the boy, with a heavy sigh. "If my mother were with me, I should not be treated as I so often am. My mother, my own dear mother, was gentle, and good, and beautiful-she was like you, lady." And he again burst into

tears.

Claudia had by this time joined them, and overheard the words of the poor child. She shook from head to foot. A faintness came over her, a vague feeling of hope and fear, that amounted to agony, and she caught Medora's arm for support.

As she did so, the loose outer robe fell back, and exposed her wrist, on which was the golden bracelet that she had worn ever since the day that she found it among the ruins of her former dwelling.

The child looked up, and his tearful eyes fell on the glittering ornament. He started, and gazed at it and then at Claudia, whose eyes were riveted to his countenance, but she could not speak.

"I have a bracelet like that," he said: and he rolled up the short close sleeve of his vest, and showed the fellow-bracelet encircling his arm.

A faint cry escaped from Claudia's lips, and she sank on the ground senseless.

Alypius, who had been making some arrangements with

Indah at a little distance, was at her side in a moment. A few words from Medora told him the cause of her sister's agitation; and while he assisted her and Pyrrha in restoring Claudia to consciousness, he hastily questioned the astonished child, and learned from him all he knew of his past life-enough to solve the mystery, and fully account for Claudia's overpowering emotion.

Soon she opened her eyes, and looked wildly and searchingly around, till she saw the boy standing by her side, and gazing at her with a strange and puzzled expression.

"Cleon!" she exclaimed, as she rose and caught him in her

arms.

"That was my name," said the boy, as he instinctively returned her embrace. "But how did you know it? They call

me Selim in the camp.'

"My child! my own child! my Cleon!" murmured Claudia, while tears of joy ran down her cheeks. "How could I have failed to recognise you at once? My heart was drawn towards you; but I little thought that you were my long-lost son!"

I

"Are you my mother ?" asked the wondering child, with a look of happiness that had long been a stranger to his young countenance. "I was sure I had seen you before. And may go with you ? You will not leave me with the cruel sheik ?" "Leave you, my Cleon? never!" exclaimed the happy mother, and again she clasped him to her throbbing heart. "We will go to the sheik at once. He cannot attempt to keep you from your own mother." Then she looked at the two

bracelets and smiled, as she said, "How is it that the sheik did not deprive you of your ornament, my boy? I found the other