with the mortal grief of imbuing my hands in your blood.” “Once more father,” replied Scheherazade, “grant me the favour I solicit.” “Your stubbornness,” resumed the vizier “will rouse my anger; why will you run headlong to your ruin? They who do not foresee the end of a dangerous enterprise can never conduct it to a happy issue. I am afraid the same thing will happen to you as befell the ass, which was well off, but could not remain so.” “What misfortune befell the ass?” demanded Scheherazade. “I will tell you,” replied the vizier, “if
not at all approve of this plan, but did not think fit to contradict Shierear in the heat of his passion. “Dear brother,” he replied, “your will shall be mine. I am ready to follow you whithersoever you please: but promise me that you will return, if we meet with any one more unhappy than ourselves.” “To this I agree,” said the sultan, “but doubt much