The palace-keeper, who knew the Hindoo, and that the emperor had imprisoned him, gave the more credit to what he said, because he saw that he was at liberty.  He presented him to the princess of Bengal; who no sooner understood that he came from the prince of Persia than she consented to what the prince, as she thought, had desired of her.

The Hindoo, overjoyed at his success, and the ease with which he had accomplished his villany, mounted his horse, took the princess behind him, with the assistance of the keeper, turned the peg, and instantly the horse mounted into the air.

At the same time the emperor of Persia, attended by his court, was on the road to the palace where the princess of Bengal had been left, and the prince of Persia was advanced before, to prepare the princess to receive his father; when the Hindoo, to brave them both, and revenge himself for the ill-treatment he had received, appeared over their heads with his prize.

When the emperor of Persia saw the ravisher, he stopped.  His surprise and affliction were the more sensible, because it was not in his power to punish so high an affront.  He loaded him with a thousand imprecations, as did also all the courtiers, who were witnesses of so signal a piece of insolence and unparalleled artifice and treachery.

The Hindoo, little moved with their curses, which just reached his ears, continued his way, while the emperor, extremely mortified at so great an insult, but more so that he could not punish the author, returned to his palace in rage and vexation.

But what was prince Firoze Shaw’s grief at beholding the Hindoo hurrying away the princess of Bengal, whom he loved so passionately that he could not live without her!  At a spectacle so little expected he was confounded, and before he could deliberate with himself what measures to pursue, the horse was out of sight.  He could not resolve how to act, whether he should return to his father’s palace, and shut himself in his apartment, to give himself entirely up to his affliction, without attempting to pursue the ravisher.  But as his generosity, love, and courage, would not suffer this, he continued on his way to the palace where he had left his princess.

When he arrived, the palace-keeper, who was by this time convinced of his fatal credulity, in believing the artful Hindoo, threw himself at his feet with tears in his eyes, accused himself of the crime, which unintentionally he had committed, and condemned himself to die by his hand.  “Rise,” said the prince to him, “I do not impute the loss of my princess to thee, but to my own want of precaution.  But not to lose time, fetch me a dervish’s habit, and take care you do not give the least hint that it is for me.”