We may here insert a few leaves from Emily’s journal:—

“We have found the Missionary Müller a great addition to our party; he

is the best, and the queerest, and the cleverest creature I ever beheld;

he really seems to me to know everything. He has travelled a great deal

in Nubia and the adjoining regions, and speaks several of those

barbarous languages. His most constant companion on our boat is Hassan.

I could not resist asking him the other day, after a conversation which

seemed to me to have lasted above an hour, what he could find to

interest him so much in Hassan’s conversation, and whether it was about

fighting and hunting.

“‘No,’ he replied, with a good-humoured smile, ‘it was about religion.’

“‘Religion!’ I exclaimed in astonishment; ‘I can understand that he

should listen to you on such a subject, but I observed that he spoke

more and more vehemently than you did yourself.’

“‘True, lady; but I could not blame him, for I attacked, and he

defended, his faith. I had before observed in him so much unselfishness,

modesty, and such a love of truth that I thought it my duty to try if I

might not lead him to the way of truth where we know it to be. With him,

as with all true Mussulmans, it is next to impossible. They have got the

one great undeniable truth—the Unity of God—so indelibly stamped upon

their conviction that any attempt to make them understand, or even

consider, the doctrine of the Trinity is attended with such difficulties

as amount almost to an impossibility! The words with which Hassan closed

our conversation were these: “There is no God but Allah; the days of

fighting the Mushrekin and planting the true faith with the sword are

gone—now we can only pity them.”’

“‘Who are the Mushrekin?’ I inquired.

“‘The term signifies,’ he replied, ‘those who assign a partner; and it

is applied especially to Christians, who, in the estimation of the

Moslem, assign in their doctrine of the Trinity two other persons or

spirits as partners with the Creator.’

“‘Whence could Hassan,’ I asked, ‘learn to discuss such subjects; has he

any learning?’

“‘He has no learning,’ replied Müller; ‘but he knows his Koran well, and

reads it constantly. He knows not that all which is most valuable in its

moral precepts was taken from our Bible; but his heart is simple, his

faith fixed, and his will strong and determined. There is hardly a tribe

in the deserts of Southern Africa, or in the islands of the Southern

Ocean, where a missionary may not hope for some reward for his labours,

but to convert an honest and believing Mussulman is a task almost

hopeless.’

“The following day we continued our course up the Nile, passing by a

number of villages and palm-groves, and towards evening I resumed my

favourite seat on the upper deck, to see the beautiful Egyptian sunset;

the Missionary Müller was by me, and interested me much by descriptions

of the Soudan. Hassan was quite in the stern of the boat, reciting or

chanting in a low voice. I asked Müller if he knew what the young man

was repeating, but he could not catch the words, and said, “It is

doubtless some old Arab legend.” I felt a great desire to hear a

recitation of this kind, and I inquired of the missionary whether he

could prevail upon Hassan to repeat it to us.

“He got up and made the request. I could see that some hesitation and

difficulties arose; but they were soon overcome, and Müller returned,

bringing with him Hassan, who sat down in his old place between me and

the _rais_. Müller said to me—

“‘Hassan desires the young lady to be informed that he is not a _ràwi_

[a teller of stories], but that he knows some old Arab legends. If it

pleases her, he will tell the tale of Rabîah. It is,’ added Müller, ‘a

legend of great antiquity, and its scene is laid in Arabia.’

“I told him it would give me great pleasure to hear it, so Hassan

commenced.

“Although I could not understand a word, it moved me deeply. After the

first few lines his faculties seemed all wrapped up in the tale: now the

voice was deep and guttural, then it grew soft and sad; then came some

scene of anger or strife, and his eyes flashed fire; then came a

plaintive tone, which dropping almost to a whisper, suddenly stopped. I

felt sure that the hero or the heroine was dead, and the tears actually

stood in Müller’s eyes, and the old _rais_ at the helm uttered several

sighs, or rather groans, in succession.

“On expressing my vexation that I could not understand the recital,

Müller kindly said that he would make me a translation of the tale on

the morrow, correcting it from Hassan’s lips.

“Here is the translation of the Arab legend made by Müller:—

“RABÎAH.

“Rabîah was feeble, slowly recovering from severe wounds. Who has not

heard of Rabîah?—the Lion of the Nejd, whose eyes were like burning

coals, whose form was like the _at’l_ (oak), whose voice was as a

tempest; before his lance the brave fell bathed in blood, and the timid

fled like herds of antelopes.

“When Rabîah came forth to battle and shouted his war-cry, the maidens

of the Otèbah wrung their hands, saying, ‘Alas for my brother!’ ‘Alas

for my beloved!’ and the mother, pressing her babe to her breast, cried,

‘Oh, my child, wilt thou see thy father to-morrow?’

“Now Rabîah was feeble.

“Some months before he had borne away from the tents of the Otèbah,

Selma, the pearl of the tribe; her form was like the Egyptian willow,

her face like the full moon in its brightness, her eyes were those of

the antelope, and her teeth pearls set between two cushions of

rose-leaves, her neck was a pillar of camphor,[43] and her breasts two

pomegranates rivalling each other in rounded beauty.

“But Selma’s eyes were averted, as if in scorn; and while Rabîah was

consumed by the fire of love, her heart was a locked casket whose

contents none might know.

“The season was spring, and the tribe, with their warriors and tents,

their flocks and herds, had moved on to a higher region. Rabîah,

retarded by his wounds, had remained behind, keeping with him only a few

followers, his sister, and Selma; but anxiety came upon his mind, and he

said, ‘Let us go to join the tribe.’

“So they went, the two maidens riding in a _musàttah_,[44] and he on a

_shibriah_,[45] and thus they journeyed, and Rabîah sung in a feeble

voice the following words:—

‘Alas, my heart is bleeding! the arrows of the Otèbah have tasted my

blood;

But their hurt is nothing: it is the glance of Selma’s eye that hath

pierced my heart.’

“The maidens heard the song, but Selma spoke not, and his sister wept

for his wounds, but more for his unrequited love.

“On the second day they passed a mountain, and, reaching a sandy plain,

journeyed slowly across it.

“Suddenly a cloud of dust appeared in the distance, and one of the

followers sped on a swift horse to see whence it arose. The maidens

trembled like willow-leaves in the morning breeze, but Rabîah slept. The

man soon returned with a loosened rein and bloody heel, shouting—

“‘It is a large body of the Otèbah, and they are coming this way; there

is no hope of escape; there is neither strength nor power save in

Allah!’

“‘Rabîah,’ cried his sister, distracted with fear, ‘canst thou do

nothing to save us? Wilt thou see Selma carried off before thine eyes?

The Otèbah are coming!’

“At these words Rabîah started up as if from a dream; his eyes shone

like two suns.

“‘Bring me my led war-horse,’ he shouted to his men, ‘and fasten on my

armour; let us see what enemy dare come near Selma while Rabîah lives.’

“Still while they fastened on his armour his old wounds opened afresh,

and the blood trickled from them, and he sang the following lines:—

‘Truly, to be near her and not have her love is worse than twenty

deaths;

But to die for her is sweeter than to drink the waters of Keswer.’[46]

“When Selma heard these words she turned towards him, and tears dropped

from her eyes upon her soft cheek, like dewdrops on a rose.

“‘Rabîah,’ she cried, ‘thy great love hath torn away the veil of pride

and deceit from my heart; truly my love is equal to thine; come to my

arms, my beloved, let us live or die together.’

“Then the camels were made to kneel, and Rabîah came to the side of her

litter, and she cast her arms about his neck, and he kissed her on the

mouth, and their lips did not separate till their souls passed into each

other, and they forgot the world.

“But the followers cried aloud, ‘Rabîah, the Otèbah are coming!’ and he

tore himself from her embrace; and his great war-horse stood beside him

stamping on the ground, for his ear caught the tramp of the steeds, and

his wide nostrils snuffed the coming fight. None but Tarrad could bear

that mighty warrior through the ranks of the foe; he was swift as an

antelope, and like an elephant in his strength.

“Now Rabîah’s armour was fastened, and his helmet on his head. He looked

once more upon Selma, and repeated the following lines:—

‘Our souls have drunk together the water of life,

There is no separation now, not even in death.’

“Then he mounted Tarrad, and took his great spear in his hand, though

his limbs were stiff, and his wounds still bled beneath his armour.

“‘Make all speed,’ said he, ‘with the camels to the Horseman’s Gap;[47]

beyond it is the plain where our tribe is encamped; there you will be

safe.’

“So they went; and when he saw the Otèbah drawing near, his great heart

rose within him; he forgot his wounds, and the fire shot from his eyes.

Then he rode towards them, and shouted his battle-cry aloud. Their

hearts trembled within them, and none came forth to meet him.

“But Fèsal, the young chief of the band, who was brother to Selma,

reproached them, saying—

“‘Are ye men, or are ye sheep, that one hundred are afraid of one? Has

he not slain our brethren, and carried away the pearl of our tribe? Now

is the hour of revenge.’

“And he went forth at speed to strike Rabîah to the earth with his

lance, but Rabîah met him in full career, and warded the blow. With the

shock of meeting, Fèsal and his horse rolled together on the ground.

“Then Rabîah wheeled round to slay him, but the young man’s helmet had

fallen off, and Rabîah knew his face, and spared him, saying—

“‘Thou art Selma’s brother.’

“Then he charged the band, and he raged among them like a wolf in a

sheepfold, and he pierced a strong warrior through the body—the man fell

from his horse, and the lance broke. Then they set up a shout of rage

and triumph; yet they would not come near him, for he had drawn his

limb-dividing sword, so they shot arrows at him from a distance.

“Casting his eyes behind him, he saw that his camels were entering the

gap, and he retreated slowly, covering himself from the arrows with his

shield; thus he gained the mouth of the defile. There he stood and faced

them; and though the arrows showered upon him, and blood was flowing

fast down the flanks of Tarrad, he spoke and moved not, but sat still,

like a horseman carved in stone in the gap.

“But soon an arrow entering the eye of Tarrad reached his brain, and he

fell dead. Then Rabîah lay down behind his horse’s body, covering

himself also with his shield, so that they saw him not; but they

continued shooting their arrows, until Fèsal, who had mounted another

horse, came up and stayed them, saying—

“‘The horse is dead, and Rabîah must now be our prisoner.’

“Then he rode forward with a few followers, and called aloud, ‘Rabîah,

yield thyself; escape is now impossible,’ but Rabîah gave no answer.

“Fèsal advanced still nearer, and repeated the same words, adding—

“‘It is useless to shed more blood.’

“But Rabîah gave no reply.

“He approached with the caution of a hunter coming near a wounded lion,

till he reached the spot, and looked upon his face.

“Rabîah was dead!

“Then pity took possession of the heart of Fèsal, and having told his

followers to place the body of Rabîah and of his horse gently on one

side, he galloped alone after the party which had retreated through the

gap. He knew that his sister was one; and seeing that they prepared to

shoot their arrows, he called to them—

“‘Put away your weapons; this is the hour of grief and not of war.’ And

he drew near to the litter, and said—

“‘Sad is the news of my tongue—Rabîah is dead—the Lion of the Nejd is no

more.’

“Then a piercing shriek came from the sister of Rabîah, and she cried—

“‘Let us go back to him.’

“Selma spoke not a word; a great stone was upon her heart, and speech

and tears were denied her.

“So they turned back; and when they reached the spot there was a dead

silence, while the camel was made to kneel down, and the two maidens

came forth.

“Rabîah’s sister wept and sobbed, holding her dead brother’s hand; but

Selma threw herself on the body of her beloved, and cast her arms about

his neck, and again she pressed her lips to his cold lips. None dared to

move her, and Allah had mercy upon her, and her soul passed away in that

last kiss.

“For many months there was wailing and lamentation among the tribes, and

there was peace among them, for war lay buried in the grave where Rabîah

and Selma slept side by side.”[48]

The dahabiahs arrived safely at Boulak after an uneventful voyage.

Hassan, having taken leave of his hospitable friends, and promised to

pay them an early visit, proceeded to discover the house of Delì Pasha,

in order to enter upon his new duties.

He learnt that the Pasha did not live in the city, but in one of the

large houses recently built on the banks of the Nile, above the Port of

Boulak, and below the palaces constructed by Mohammed Ali and Ibrahim

Pasha for the harems of the viceregal family.

On reaching the door of the house Hassan was informed by the Berber

porter that the Pasha was within, so he passed into the entrance-hall,

at the end of which he observed one or two slaves lounging about, from

whom he learnt that their master had lately come down from the upper

apartments, and was now in the courtyard at the back of the palace.

Availing himself of the guidance of one of the slaves, he soon reached

the courtyard, a large space covering two or three acres of ground, and

surrounded by a high wall. Here he found a motley crowd assembled,

consisting apparently of Mamelukes, grooms, and servants of all

descriptions, and the shouts, and cries, and turmoil proceeding from

them baffled all description.

In the centre of the group he saw a horse, held by two or three grooms

by long ropes, rearing, kicking, and plunging like a wild beast, and

near him a middle-aged, strong-built man, with a turban on his head and

his sleeves tucked up above his elbows, striking at the horse with a

long courbatch,[49] and cursing the animal, together with its sire, dam,

and all its ancestry, in the most approved terms of Turkish abuse. As

Hassan came forward, looking around in vain for any figure which he

could conceive likely to be the Pasha, the person above-mentioned

stopped a moment from his flogging and malediction to take breath, so

Hassan took the opportunity of inquiring whether he could inform him

where Delì Pasha was to be found.

“And what may be your business with him, young man?” said he, turning

towards Hassan a face in which heat, anger, and good-humour were

strangely blended.

“I have a letter for him from Hadji Ismael, the merchant,” replied

Hassan.

“Where is the letter?” said the speaker.

“It is here,” said our hero, producing it from his girdle; “and I wish

to deliver it to the Pasha in person, if you will tell me where I can

find him.”

“Let me see the address,” said the strange man with the bare arms.

Hassan handed it to him, and as he cast his eye on the outer seal, he

said—

“Why, this is not the seal of Hadji Ismael, it is that of the Viceroy;”

and he was proceeding leisurely to open it when Hassan snatched it from

him, saying—

“How dare you open it! I must deliver it unopened into the Pasha’s own

hands.”

“Why, you young hot-blood,” said the other, holding out his two large

muscular hands, “whose hands are these if they are not Delì Pasha’s?”

“Is it so, indeed?” said Hassan, in some confusion. “I was not aware

that I was speaking to his Excellency.”

“There is no harm done, boy,” said the Pasha, smiling good-humouredly.

“You did not expect to see his Excellency with his arms bare and a

courbatch in his hand. Now that you know me, give me the letter.”

Taking it from the youth’s hand, he read it carefully, stopping every

now and then to give a scrutinising glance at the bearer; and when he

came to the postscript added by the Viceroy’s order, he laughed till the

tears stood in his eyes.

“By my father’s beard!” he said, “all will soon be mad in this house.

Mohammed Ali sends you to me, saying that you are as mad as myself; and

it is only yesterday that Ibrahim Pasha sent me that cursed horse,

telling me that it was as mad as myself. If the father’s statement prove

as true as the son’s, you must be mad indeed, for such a devil I never

beheld.”

“Devil,” said Hassan, looking at the furious and struggling animal with

unrepressed admiration; “he seems to me beautiful as an angel.”

“You say true,” replied Delì Pasha, “his form is perfect; and Ibrahim

brought him away as a colt from the Wahabees. He is of pure Kohèil

blood; but Shèitan[50] is his name, and Shèitan is his nature; nothing

can tame him. He has nearly killed two of Ibrahim Pasha’s grooms, and he

sends the animal to me as a present, telling me that it is just like

myself.”

“If he be a Kohèil,” said Hassan, “he will never be tamed by such means

as I saw your Excellency using when I came into the courtyard.”

“You speak boldly, youngster,” said the choleric Pasha with a frown. “Do

you think that, with my beard beginning to turn grey, I do not know how

to tame an unruly horse?”

“I speak boldly, Excellency, because I speak truly; not from any wish to

offend. Does Ibrahim Pasha know your Excellency well?”

“Wallàhi! [by Allah!] I believe you he does; we have marched together,

bivouacked together, fought together for many years.”

“Then,” said Hassan, “as his Highness has likened your Excellency to

that horse, permit your servant to ask you, if you were in an angry and

fretful mood, and any one were to attempt to haul at _you_ with ropes,

and strike you with a courbatch, in order to tame you, how would he

succeed?”

“Wallàhi! I would cut his head off,” exclaimed the Pasha, feeling

mechanically for the sword which he had left behind him in the palace.

“Do you think that you could mount him?”

“It is better not now,” said Hassan quietly.

“Mount him!” said a voice from behind; “he is afraid to go near the

horse.”

Hassan turned to look at the speaker, and saw a large, powerful man of

about thirty-five years of age, to whose harsh features a deep scar on

the cheek gave a still more forbidding appearance.

“Silence, Osman Bey,” said the Pasha; “because the young man speaks his

mind freely, you have no right to insinuate that he is afraid. What say

you, Hassan? What do you propose about the horse?”

“If your Excellency desires it,” said Hassan, drawing himself up and

casting a look of contempt on Osman Bey, “I will mount the horse

immediately, and he shall kill me or I will kill him; but if you ask me

what I would advise, I would say leave him alone now: his flank is

panting, his eye bloodshot, no good can come from gentle usage now. Let

him be taken back to the stable; give orders that no one may tend or

feed him but myself, and let me show him to your Excellency after two

days are past.”

The Pasha was just about giving his consent, when Shèitan thought fit to

settle the matter otherwise for himself. With an unexpected bound he

broke the halter held by one groom, and rushing upon the other, threw

him to the ground, and grasping the unfortunate man by the middle, with

his teeth shook him as a terrier does a rat.

None seemed desirous of approaching the infuriated animal; but Hassan,

snatching a _nabout_ (a long thick staff) from the hand of one of the

bystanding servants, rushed to the spot, and striking the horse a severe

blow on the nose, obliged him to drop the _sàis_ (groom), who crawled

away on all-fours and placed himself behind his protector.

Shèitan seemed resolved to be worthy of his name, for no sooner did he

see Hassan standing before him than he ran furiously at him with open

mouth, with the intention of worrying him as he had done the _sàis_; but

Hassan had watched him with too steady an eye to be taken unawares, and

no sooner did the animal in furious career come within reach than he

dealt him a blow on the top of the head between the ears with such force

that the staff was broken in half, and the horse stood still a moment

completely stunned and bewildered. That moment was not unimproved by

Hassan, who vaulted lightly on his back, and sat waiting until the

animal’s senses fully returned, during which time he gathered up the

halters hanging from the horse’s head and made therewith a sort of

extempore bridle.

No sooner did Shèitan recover his senses and become aware of the

audacious rider on his back, than he began to rear, plunge, and perform

the wildest gambols in order to dislodge him. Hassan sat like a centaur,

and the savage animal, determined to get rid of him, reared bolt upright

and fell backwards; but Hassan was prepared for this manœuvre, and

sliding off on one side, alighted on his feet, while the horse fell

alone.

Hassan’s blood was now up, and he determined to subdue his enemy by

force. Giving the horse several severe blows with the broken staff which

he held in his hand, he forced the animal to rise, and just as it was

gaining its feet jumped once more on its back.

“Aferin! aferin!” (bravo! bravo!) shouted the old Pasha at the top of

his voice, as the infuriated horse once more commenced its wild career,

bearing its immovable and relentless rider. The large arena in which

this scene took place was shut in by the house in front, by high walls

on the two sides, one of which divided the outer house from the interior

or harem, and at the farther end was a lower wall, between five and six

feet high, which separated it from another large court beyond, in which

were the Pasha’s stables. Shèitan, goaded to madness by his vain efforts

to get rid of his merciless rider, now rushed with full speed towards

the stable-court. To stop him with that halter bridle was impossible,

so, instead of attempting it, Hassan gave him his head, shouted aloud

his wild Arab cry, and, to the surprise of the bystanders, horse and man

cleared the wall and alighted in safety on the other side. Whether it

were owing to the tremendous exertion that he had made, or to the

concussion on alighting on hard ground after so unwonted a leap, Shèitan

was no sooner over the wall than he stopped, trembling and panting.

Hassan allowed the affrighted animal a few moments to recover its

breath, and then began to canter it round the stable-yard. “Now, friend

Shèitan,” he said, “thou hast come over this wall once to please

thyself; thou must go over it again to please me.” So saying, he again

urged the horse to full speed with heel and stick, and charging the wall

with the same success as before, galloped him to the spot where Delì

Pasha and his followers stood. There, without difficulty, he pulled up,

and the foaming, panting sides of the exhausted steed sufficiently

proved that he was subdued.

“That will do for the first lesson,” said Hassan good-humouredly,

patting the neck of Shèitan. “To-morrow we shall know each other

better.”

Delì Pasha was so delighted with Hassan’s performance that he could

scarcely find words to express himself.

“See your horse safe in the stable,” he said; “give your own orders

about him, and then come up to me in the _salamlik_;[51] I have much to

say to you.” Turning to the _mirakhor_, or head of the stable, he added,

“Give him a good _sàis_, and see that his orders about Shèitan are

punctually obeyed.”

On inquiry Hassan found that the _sàis_ who had been seized by the horse

had not been injured, as the teeth had only caught his outer clothes and

his broad girdle. This _sàis_ was the one who habitually fed Shèitan in

the stable, and Hassan accompanied him thither, telling him to walk the

horse about for an hour, but to give it neither water nor barley till

his return; to ensure his fidelity Hassan slipped a few piastres into

the man’s hand, and returned towards the house to present himself to his

new patron.

We must now change the scene to the interior or harem of Delì Pasha’s

palace, which was separated by a high wall from the exterior building.

There was, however, a private door pierced in the wall, by means of

which the Pasha could pass from his _salamlik_ to his harem, which door

was, as usual in Turkish houses, guarded by several eunuchs, who

relieved each other on guard day and night. One wing of the harem was

assigned to the Pasha’s two wives and their attendants, while the other

was assigned to his only daughter, Amina, whose mother had died in her

infancy, her place being supplied by a middle-aged Turkish lady, named

Fatimeh Khanum, who enjoyed the title and authority of Kiahia, or chief

of the harem.

All the Pasha’s affections were centred in his daughter Amina, and she

was one of whom any father might be proud; she was about sixteen years

of age, and though her figure was rather above the average height, it

was so beautifully formed, and rounded in such exquisite proportions,

that every movement was a varied though unstudied grace.

Her face was one of those which defy the poet’s description or the

portraiture of the artist; for although each lovely feature might be

separately described, neither pen nor pencil could depict their harmony

of expression nor the deep lustre of those large liquid eyes, whose

fringes, when she cast them down, trembled on the border of her downy

cheek.

Her beauty was already so celebrated in Cairo that she was more

generally known by the name of Nejmet-es-Sabah[52] than by her own. Many

among the highest of the beys and pashas had demanded her in marriage,

but she was so happy with her father, and he loved her with such intense

affection, that he had never yet been able to make up his mind to part

with her. He spoilt her by indulging her in every whim and caprice, and

yet she was not spoilt, partly owing to the gentleness of her

disposition and partly owing to the care which Fatimeh Khanum, who was

an unusually sensible and well-informed woman, had taken in her

education.

From the latticed window in her boudoir, Amina had witnessed the whole

of the scene described already; clapping her hands together with

excitement, she had called Fatimeh to her side.

“Fatimeh,” she cried, “who is that stranger, taller by the head than all

the others?”

“I know not, my child,” said Fatimeh. “I have never seen him before.”

“Oh, the wild horse will kill him,” said Amina, with a half-suppressed

shriek, as she saw the horse rear and fall backwards. “No, he is on it

again, and unhurt,” she cried, again clapping her hands together for

joy. Another half scream burst from her as she saw the wild horse and

horseman clear the wall, and again when he repeated the same perilous

leap.

Amina often sat behind the lattice of her window and amused herself by

looking at her father’s retainers when playing the jereed,[53] and

though herself invisible to them, she knew many of them by name, and

almost all by sight.

“Oh, Fatimeh,” she cried, “when you go downstairs do not forget to make

one of the slaves inquire who is that strange youth. We never saw such a

horseman, did we, Fatimeh? and then he has such a——” Amina paused and

blushed a little.

“You were going to say such a handsome face and figure,” said Fatimeh,

smiling. “I daresay he is a new Mameluke of your father’s, but I will

find out and tell you who he is this evening.”

They then withdrew into the outer apartment, and resumed the work which

the noise made by the wild horse had interrupted.

Amina was making a beautiful embroidered purse for her father, and

Fatimeh arranging some ornament of her favourite pupil’s dress, when a

slave entered and said that the Pasha required Fatimeh Khanum’s presence

in the _salamlik_. Throwing her veil over her head, she immediately

obeyed the summons.

The Pasha was alone, having ordered his attendants to withdraw.

“How is my Amina, my Morning Star, to-day?” he exclaimed as soon as

Fatimeh entered.

“Praise be to Allah, she is well, and her fingers are employed on a

purse for your Excellency.”

“The blessing of Allah be upon her,” said the Pasha; “she is my heart’s

delight. Inshallah! when I have finished the business now in hand I will

come to her. Tell her that I will sup with her this evening.” He then

proceeded to inform her that he had been appointed by the Viceroy to be

Governor of Siout in Upper Egypt, and that in a few weeks he should take

his departure, with all his family, to his new post. He proceeded to

discuss with her the arrangements which it might be advisable to make

for the conveyance of his daughter and for the other ladies of his

harem.

Meanwhile Hassan, after seeing Shèitan secure in the stable, had

returned to the house and inquired where he might find the Pasha.

“He is upstairs, in the _salamlik_,” said the young Mameluke whom he

addressed. “You will find him in the large room at the end of the

passage on your right; he has dismissed us from attendance, but he has

asked twice for you; better that you make haste; Delì Pasha does not

like to wait.”

Hassan rapidly mounted the stairs, and following the direction he had

received, ran rather than walked along the dimly lighted passage which

led to the Pasha’s room. Just as he reached the end, and was about to

enter, he encountered a woman coming out, and the concussion was such

that she must inevitably have fallen had he not caught her in his arms.

As it was, the shock was such that it displaced her veil, and for a few

seconds she was unable to speak. Hassan saw that she was a middle-aged

woman, who still retained traces of early beauty; it was Fatimeh Khanum

retiring from her interview with the Pasha.

“I hope you are not much hurt, lady,” said he in a tone of respectful

solicitude, and depositing her gently on a stone seat at the side of the

passage.

“Not hurt,” she replied, with difficulty regaining her breath, “but very

much frightened.”

“I cannot forgive myself for being so careless,” he continued; “but I

was in haste to obey the Pasha’s summons. I hope you forgive me; you can

be sure I meant no rudeness to you.”

“I believe it, young Aga,” she replied with a smile, fixing her eyes

involuntarily on the open and animated countenance before her. “I am

recovered now; you had better go in to the Pasha, who is waiting.”

Hassan, after saluting her respectfully, left her and entered the

Pasha’s room.

“You have not been very quick in obeying our summons,” said the latter,

with a slight frown on his brow.

Hassan explained the accident by which he had been detained in the

passage.

“What!” he cried, bursting out into a fit of laughter, “so you nearly

knocked down our poor Kiahia Khanum, did you? I am glad she was not

hurt. She is a good, kind-hearted soul. Now come here, Hassan, and tell

me if you know anything of the postscript added by Mohammed Ali’s order

to the merchant’s letter?”

“Nothing,” replied Hassan. “His Highness gave his orders in a whisper to

the interpreter.”

“Well, it is written in this letter that I am to pay you ten purses

[£50], and I shall order the money to be given to you this evening.”

The Pasha made Hassan give him an account of his interview with the

Viceroy, and of his affray with the Government _kawàss_ on the canal, at

which latter Delì Pasha laughed heartily; he then continued—“Hadji

Ismael speaks so highly of you in his letter, that I propose at once to

offer you the vacant post of _khaznadâr_ in this house. My _khazneh_

[treasury] is not very full, and will not occupy you much, so I shall

expect you to assist in the purchase of horses which I am making for

Ibrahim Pasha.”

Hassan stepped forward, and having placed the edge of the Pasha’s

pelisse to his forehead in token of acknowledgment, retired from the

room.

“I like that young giant,” said Delì Pasha to himself as Hassan

withdrew. “His manners are so quiet and his face so prepossessing; but

there is the devil in his eye when his blood is roused, as I saw this

morning.”

Hassan was no sooner alone than he remembered the letter given him by

his old friend Mohammed Aga, in Alexandria, to Ahmed Aga, Delì Pasha’s

master of the horse, and hearing that he had gone to the stables,

followed and rejoined him. Ahmed Aga, who had been an admiring spectator

of Hassan’s performance with Shèitan, was already prepossessed in his

favour, and when he read the letter which Mohammed Aga’s partiality had

dictated, he welcomed Hassan with great cordiality; and as Ahmed himself

was a man of open, honest countenance and sterling good qualities, they

were disposed to like each other from the very first.

Hassan having communicated to his new friend that he had received the

appointment of _khaznadâr_, the latter exclaimed—

“Mashallah! that is a good beginning; but the post is not so agreeable,

for it brings you into constant collision with Osman Bey, the wakeel,

who has charge of all Delì Pasha’s lands and property. He is a spiteful,

jealous, and dangerous man. I fear he has taken a dislike to you

already.”

“To me!” said Hassan, in surprise. “What can I have done to offend him?”

“You have offended him mortally by riding that horse Shèitan, which he

was unable to mount; and as he is a good horseman, and very proud of his

horsemanship, he is very angry at your having subdued that which he

described this morning to the Pasha as a wild beast, perfectly

untameable.”

“If he is spiteful against me on such grounds as those,” said Hassan,

smiling, “I cannot help myself. I shall do my duty, and not trouble

myself about his spite.”

Ahmed Aga shook his head, as if Osman Bey were not a pleasant subject to

speak upon.

“Come,” he said, “let us go into the house. As _khaznadâr_ you are

entitled to a separate room, a privilege enjoyed by none of the

Mamelukes.”

When Fatimeh Khanum had recovered from the shock occasioned by running

against Hassan in the passage, she pursued her way to the private door

leading to the harem, where she was admitted by the eunuchs on guard.

No sooner had the good lady reached Amina’s apartment than she threw

herself down on a divan in the corner, and the quick eyes of her pupil

discovered that she was labouring under some violent agitation.

“What has happened, my dear Fatimeh?” said Amina, seating herself beside

her governess. “What has agitated you thus?”

Fatimeh related to her pupil her accidental meeting with Hassan in the

passage, and that he was the same youth whom they had seen from the

window riding the wild horse.

“He carried me so gently,” she continued, “to a seat, and he was so kind

in inquiring whether I was hurt, and his manner was so respectful, so

unlike those young Mamelukes, that I could not take my eyes off him, I

felt as if I were bewitched.”

“Oh!” cried Amina, clapping her little hands together; “Fatimeh Khanum,

my wise monitress, has fallen in love with the young stranger.”

“My dear child,” replied Fatimeh, “the love you speak of has been dead

within me for many years and can never be revived; and that which

frightens me so much is, that I cannot account for the agitation into

which I was thrown by his looks and his voice otherwise than by saying

that I must have been bewitched.” And here the good lady began to recite

some verses from the Koran as a charm against the evil eye, and to count

the beads of her rosary.[54] Having performed this counter-charm against

witchery, Fatimeh proceeded to inform her pupil of their change of

residence and departure for Siout, and also of her father’s intention to

sup with her.

“Oh!” cried the light-hearted Amina, “I will prepare him a dish of

_kadaif_[55] with my own hands. He says that no one can make it so well

as I do.” So saying, she bounded away to give the requisite orders to

her slaves.

Meanwhile Hassan, aided by his new friend Ahmed Aga, had found a vacant

room on the second floor, which was appropriated to his use, and his box

and saddle-bags were transported thither. As he might, in his new

capacity of _khaznadâr_, be called upon to take charge of sums of money

belonging to Delì Pasha, he desired that a strong lock might be put on

the door, of which he proposed to keep the key about his person. There

was not much fear of thieves coming in at the window, as the only

aperture for the admission of light or air was in the side-wall of the

house, forty or fifty feet from the ground, and eight or ten feet above

the floor of Hassan’s room. The remainder of the day, with the exception

of a visit made to Shèitan, Hassan spent with Ahmed Aga, who gave him

many useful hints as to the character of his new chief—hasty, impetuous,

and choleric, but warm-hearted, and soon appeased.

The moon was high in the heavens when Hassan retired to his own room,

where he busied himself in arranging his few movables before throwing

himself on his mattress to sleep. While thus occupied, a Turkish song,

with the words of which he was perfectly familiar, caught his ear; the

voice was evidently that of a woman, and it was rich, low, and musical.

Hassan listened like one in a trance to that sweet sound, wafted into

his room, he knew not from whence, by the night breeze. The song

consisted of three stanzas, two of which the songstress completed, and

then her fingers wandered over the strings of a lute, as if to recall

the third to memory. Moved by an impulse which he could not restrain,

Hassan took up the song, and in a low voice sung the concluding stanza.

After this there was a profound silence, broken only by the distant

barking of dogs and braying of donkeys, sounds which never cease day or

night in Cairo, and Hassan fell asleep with the song on his lips.

He was up before sunrise, and went straight to the stables, where he

hoped to find that Shèitan, having been kept all night without barley or

water, might be more disposed to cultivate acquaintance. Such, however,

was not the case; for when he endeavoured to approach with sieve or

bucket, the horse laid back its ears and struggled with the heel-ropes,

endeavouring to kick at him.

“Softly,” said Hassan; “no more violence now, we shall soon be better

friends;” and putting away the corn and the water, he contrived with the

assistance of his groom to saddle and bridle him. Armed with a good

courbatch, he mounted and went out by a back gate, the horse fretting

and plunging, but still evidently recognising his rider of yesterday.

Hassan gave him a good gallop of some ten miles over the desert, and

brought him back much subdued to the stable. “Not a drop of water nor a

grain of barley,” said he to the _sàis_, “until he takes it out of my

hand.” So saying, he walked into the house and went up to his room, his

thoughts ever reverting to the unseen songstress of yesterday evening.

As he went along the passage his eye accidentally fell upon a small

ladder, which appeared to have been lately used for whitewashing the

upper wall and ceiling of the passage. A sudden idea struck him, and

catching up the ladder, he carried it into his room, and after locking

the door, by the help of the ladder he climbed up to the aperture which

served as a window and looked cautiously out.

Opposite him, at a distance of not more than eight or ten yards, he saw

a latticed window, which he at once knew to belong to the harem portion

of the palace, and he guessed that from that window must have come the

strain which he had heard the preceding night. Hiding the ladder, or

rather the steps, under his bed, he went down to attend upon Delì Pasha,

who received him with much kindness, and gave him several commissions

connected with his new appointment. Having executed these, and dined as

on the preceding day with Ahmed, he retired to his room, but not to

sleep, for his imagination still fed upon the soft, musical voice of the

night before, and he hoped that he might hear it again. Nor was he

doomed to disappointment, for about two hours after sunset his ear again

caught the same voice, singing, perhaps, in a lower tone and a different

air.

Gently placing his steps against the wall below the aperture, he

mounted, and found that the sound proceeded from the latticed window

opposite. The moon shone full upon it, though he was in the shade. He

fancied that through the little diamond-shaped apertures in the lattice

he could distinguish a woman’s figure behind it. Holding his breath, he

remained for some time on the watch, when the fair songstress, having

finished her lay, threw open the lattice to look out for a few minutes

at the moonlit scene.

Hassan gazed at the lovely apparition as if under a fascination. Her

gorgeous black hair was falling in clusters over her neck and shoulders,

veiling at the same time half of the arm on which she rested her rounded

velvet cheek. Sometimes her large lustrous eyes were raised to the moon,

and then they dropped under the shadows of their long dark fringes.

“My dream—my destiny,” murmured Hassan to himself, “there she is—she of

whom I have dreamt—she whom I have adored from my earliest youth—her

picture has been long in my heart, but my eyes never saw it till now!”

In his excitement and agitation he sprang to the ground, and throwing

himself on his bed, gave vent to all the impetuous and long-suppressed

impulses of his romantic passion. He had not remained there many minutes

ere the Turkish song of the preceding evening reached his ear, and the

fair songstress paused at the conclusion of the second stanza. Moved by

an impulse that he could not resist, Hassan caught up the air, and sang

to it, with a voice trembling with agitation, the following lines:—

“Thy name is unknown, yet thy image is in my heart;

Thine eyes have pierced me, and if thou show not mercy, I die.”

Again he crept softly up the steps and looked out; but the lattice was

closed, and the fair vision had disappeared.

On the following morning Hassan was afoot before sunrise, and in walking

across the space between the house and the stable he turned round in

hopes of discovering the latticed window opposite to his own room. On

carrying his eye along the wall that separated the outer palace from the

harem, he easily recognised the window that he sought, in the upper

storey of the harem, which faced the quarter of the house where his own

room was situated, and being at the corner of the building, commanded a

view of the space where he was walking, which was the Meidàn, where the

Mamelukes and followers of the Pasha played at the jereed, and other

equestrian sports in vogue at the time.

His thoughts still bent upon the lovely vision of the preceding night,

he reached the stable, and on his approaching and speaking to Shèitan,

the horse turned round and looked at him, seemingly more desirous of

receiving something from him than of kicking or biting him. “So,” said

Hassan, smiling, “we shall be friends after all!” The half-pail of water

that he carried up to the horse’s head was swallowed, and Shèitan no

longer disdained to eat the barley out of his hands. Allowing the horse

only a few handfuls, Hassan gave him another canter over the desert,

stopping every now and then to coax and caress him. After his return he

gave Shèitan his full meal of barley, and from that day they grew more

and more intimate, until at the end of a week the formerly vicious horse

was as gentle as a lamb, and followed him like a dog.

During the first days of his stay he was chiefly employed in examining

the accounts of his predecessor, in which he received great assistance

from his friend Ahmed Aga; but the task was far from being easy, as the

Pasha was very thoughtless and extravagant in all that regarded money,

and the preceding _khaznadâr_ had thought it his duty to follow his

chief’s example.

Hassan had also formed the acquaintance of the chief eunuch of the

harem—a venerable-looking negro, with a beard as white as snow—and the

old man took pleasure in relating to so enthusiastic and intelligent a

listener some of the stirring and tragical scenes that he had witnessed

in the days of the Mameluke beys and the French invasion, at which

period he had been in the service of the famous Ibrahim Elfi Bey. Hassan

had another motive in cultivating the acquaintance of Mansour Aga; for,

as the old man seemed to know something of the history of every

influential family in Egypt, he hoped through him to find some clue to

his own parentage.

Every evening Hassan crept softly up to the aperture in the wall of his

room; but the lattice was lost in the shade, owing to the change in the

position of the moon. Nevertheless, though he could see nothing, he

remained for a long time with his eyes fixed upon the lattice, as if the

insensible wood could feel or return his gaze.

Lovers are never very good calculators, and thus Hassan forgot that the

same change in the position of the moon which had thrown the latticed

window into the shade, had also thrown her beams full upon his own face,

and that the tenant of the opposite room could now, while perfectly

concealed herself, trace every emotion that passed over his countenance.

The lovely songstress, behind her latticed shield, gazed in silence,

night after night, on what was in her eyes the noblest face they had

ever beheld; and when his longing and ardent gaze seemed to him to be

arrested by that envious lattice, it fell in reality on the lustrous

orbs and blushing cheeks of the lovely girl within, who, although

concealed, trembled at her own audacity, and at the new emotions that

agitated her. Having waited for some time in the vain hope of seeing a

symptom of movement in the lattice, Hassan descended to his room, having

sung before he left the following verse in a low voice:—

“Oh, sleep! fall like dew on that rosebud’s eyelids;

Let her know in her dreams that Hassan’s heart is burnt with her love.”

On the following day Hassan had gone into the city on business intrusted

to him by the Pasha, and on his return had just entered that part of the

Frank quarter now called the Esbekiah when his attention was attracted

to a tumultuous noise, occasioned apparently by some drunken

Bashi-Bazouks.[56] He was about to pass on, when he heard his own name

called aloud by a voice which he easily recognised as that of Mansour

the eunuch, “Help, Hassan! help!—they will murder me!”

Snatching a heavy club from the hands of one of the fellahs standing by,

Hassan rushed into the fray, and arrived just as one of the

Bashi-Bazouks was dragging poor old Mansour off his mule by his snowy

beard. A blow from Hassan’s staff on the fellow’s shoulder made him let

go his hold, and his arm dropped powerless by his side. His two

companions (for the Bashi-Bazouks were three in number) now turned upon

Hassan, and one of them, drawing a pistol from his belt, fired it as he

advanced; fortunately for our hero, the ruffian’s aim was unsteady, and

the ball, passing through his sleeve, lodged in the shoulder of a boy

who was an accidental spectator of the fray. The two then drew their

swords and rushed upon him together, but the clumsy drunkards were no

match for the steady eye and powerful arm of Hassan. Parrying their

ill-directed thrusts, he struck first one and then the other over the

head with the full weight of his club, and the contest was over; they

both lay helpless on the ground.

Hassan then assisted the terrified eunuch to remount his mule, and the

crowd was beginning to disperse when the _wali_ (or police magistrate),

who happened to be passing by, rode up and inquired into the cause of

the disturbance.

It was soon explained by Mansour that the Bashi-Bazouks had been the

aggressors, and therefore the _wali_ ordered them to be conveyed to

their quarters and delivered to their own officers. He then pursued his

way, as did Mansour, after cordially thanking Hassan for his timely

assistance.

Hassan was just returning to the spot where he had left his horse under

the care of the _sàis_, when his eye fell upon the unfortunate boy whose

shoulder had received the pistol-ball aimed at himself. On approaching

to see whether he were seriously hurt, Hassan saw that he looked faint

from exhaustion, and that his vest was stained with blood. Drawing near

to examine the wound, he inquired whether he felt much pain; the poor

boy, whose countenance was prepossessing and intelligent, answered only

with a faint murmur, pointing at the same time to his mouth.

“The ball cannot have wounded you both in the shoulder and the mouth,”

said Hassan. The sufferer shook his head, and again pointed to his

mouth. Then Hassan understood that he was dumb.

“Poor child!” said Hassan compassionately; “I have been the cause of thy

wound. I cannot leave thee here to suffer—perhaps to die. Where is thy

home?”

A melancholy shake of the head was the only answer.

“Hast no parents?” Again the same reply.

Tearing a piece of linen off the edge of his shirt, Hassan stanched with

it the blood still flowing from the boy’s shoulder, and binding a

handkerchief over the wound, he lifted the sufferer gently in his arms;

then placing him on his horse, and having desired the groom to go

immediately for the Italian surgeon who attended Delì Pasha’s family, he

walked slowly home, supporting the wounded boy on the saddle.

Mansour, the eunuch, after being so opportunely rescued by Hassan,

pursued his way to Delì Pasha’s harem, and went up to give to the Lady

Amina an account of the commission which he had been executing for her

in Cairo.

After he had produced the gold thread which he had purchased for the

completion of the purse which Amina was working for her father, the

young lady remarked in his countenance the traces of recent agitation,

and inquired the cause. The old man proceeded to relate to her his

adventure with the Bashi-Bazouks and his timely rescue by Hassan. In

speaking of the latter he launched forth into the highest praises of his

courage and prowess, as well as the kindness of his nature and

disposition.

Had the room not been darkened by curtains, and the old man’s eyesight

not been somewhat dimmed by age, he could not have failed to notice the

tell-tale blood rush to the cheeks and temples of Amina as she heard

these encomiums on one whom she knew to be the same whom she had seen

from her lattice, and whose voice had taken up her song; nor could she

doubt from the expression which he had used, and from the deep and

earnest gaze which he had fixed upon her lattice, that she was herself

the object of his romantic attachment.

Repressing her emotions with a slyness which is one of the earliest

lessons that Love teaches to his votaries, she asked Mansour, in a tone

of seeming indifference, who this new follower of her father’s might be,

and what his rank and parentage.

To these inquiries Mansour was unable to give her any satisfactory

answer. He had heard that some mystery hung over Hassan’s birth, and all

that he knew was that his form was a model of strength and activity,

that as a horseman he was unequalled, that from his good-humour and

obliging disposition he was already a great favourite in the house, and

that Delì Pasha entertained so high an opinion of him as to give him the

appointment of _khaznadâr_.

Little did the old eunuch think that every word which he uttered was

adding fuel to the fire already kindled, and that while Amina sat with

downcast eyes and fingers busily employed on her purse, her ear was

drinking in every word that he uttered in praise of Hassan, and her

little heart was beating with throbs so violent that she feared Mansour

must hear them. Her secret was, however, safe for the present, and the

eunuch, changing the conversation, said—

“Have you heard that on the day after to-morrow there is to be a grand

match at the jereed in the courtyard? The Kiahia Pasha is coming with

some of his _golams_, and they will take a part in the game.”

“No,” replied Amina; “I had not yet heard of it. Are you sure if the

match is to be the day after to-morrow?”

“Yes; I was told so as I came in by Ahmed the _mirakhor_. I hope that

some of those brought by the Kiahia will be strong and skilful, so as to

make head against that tyrannical, ill-natured Osman Bey, our Pasha’s

wakeel. Here we have no one who can contend with him. I dislike him,”

added the old eunuch, “but, to say the truth, I have not seen his match

at the jereed.”

“Will not the young stranger whom you spoke of?” said Amina, hesitating

to mention the name.

“Hassan?” said Mansour.

“Yes, Hassan; will not he play at the jereed, and may he not be a match

for Osman?”

“I doubt it,” replied Mansour, shaking his head; “notwithstanding his

strength, activity, and horsemanship, he is but a youth, and he can

scarcely have had opportunity for acquiring the skill and experience

requisite for complete proficiency in this game.”

While this conversation was passing, Hassan had brought the wounded boy

to the house, where he had carried him gently upstairs and deposited him

on his own bed. Shortly afterwards the surgeon arrived, and having

examined the wound, he found, to Hassan’s great satisfaction, that the

ball had passed clean through the fleshy part of the arm, just below the

shoulder, without injuring any bone or ligament, and the patient was

only suffering from loss of blood.

Having dressed the wound, he said, “Let him have rest and light

wholesome food; in a few days he will be well.” The doctor then took his

leave, and Hassan, by the assistance of his friend Ahmed Aga, found a

small empty room, not far from his own, in which he placed a bed, and

having conveyed thither his patient, went to find some refreshing

draught, for which he stood much in need. In a few minutes he returned

with a cool lemonade, and having drunk it, the dumb boy looked up in his

face with tears of gratitude in his eyes.

Hassan was desirous of ascertaining something of the history of his

helpless companion, who began to converse with him by rapid movements of

his slight and delicate fingers. This, however, being a sealed alphabet

to our hero, he shook his head in token that he did not understand a

syllable. The boy then began with his right (his unwounded hand) to

imitate writing with a pen on paper.

“You can read and write, can you?” said Hassan. The boy nodded his head.

Hassan then went down to his office below, and soon returned, bringing

with him an inkstand, a reed, and some paper. The result of the written

conversation was that Hassan learned that the boy’s name was Murad; that

he was an orphan, ignorant of his parentage; that as a child he had been

in the house of a captain of Bashi-Bazouks, who one day, in a fit of

drunken fury, had cut off more than half of the poor child’s tongue

owing to some hasty word that had escaped him; that having been kicked

out of the captain’s house, he had been kindly treated by one of the

mollahs attached to the Mosque El-Azhar,[57] where he had remained for

several years learning to read and write, fed from the funds of the

institution; and that for the last two years he had picked up a

precarious subsistence by carrying letters and parcels all over the

town. He ended his artless tale by saying that everybody in Cairo knew

him, and he knew everybody.

While this conversation in writing was passing, Hassan received a

summons from Delì Pasha, whom he found in his _salamlik_ on the first

floor.

“Hassan,” said the Pasha, “there are thirty horses just arrived, sent by

an agent in my employ, for the service of a cavalry regiment which the

Viceroy has ordered to be raised for Upper Egypt. I wish you to examine

and try them, and cast any that you think unfit for the work. When you

have seen them, bring me your report.”

Hassan replied, “Upon my head be it,” and was leaving the room when Delì

Pasha called him back and asked him for an account of what had happened

between his chief eunuch and the Bashi-Bazouks, a rumour of which had

already reached him. Hassan recounted briefly, passing over his own

services as lightly as possible, and concluded by mentioning the hurt of

poor little Murad, and of his being now under the Pasha’s roof.

“Poor child!” said Delì Pasha, “I have heard something of his history.

After the massacre of the Mameluke beys he was found in a house that

belonged to one of them, and afterwards fell into the hands of one of

those Albanian savages, who cut out his tongue. I have often seen the

little boy in the streets, and I pity him much. You may keep him and

take care of him as long as you please, and while he remains I will give

orders that he has his regular allowance sent from the kitchen.”

Hassan thanked the Pasha for his kindness, and was about to leave the

room when he was again called back by his chief, who said—

“In describing your interference to rescue old Mansour, you made little

mention of yourself; but it seems clear that you must have knocked down

three of these fellows with the _nabout_. Did you hit them very hard—do

you think any of them are killed?”

“I think not,” said Hassan quietly. As one had fired a pistol, and the

two others used their swords, I was obliged in self-defence to strike

rather quick and hard; but I did not use all my strength, nor endeavour

to do more than prevent them from doing further mischief at the time.

The rascals have thick skulls, which will stand many a tap from a club

before they break.”

“Well, Inshallah! may you not have killed any of them,” said the Pasha;

“for they are a revengeful race, and would never rest till they had your

blood by fair means or foul. When you go out, keep a sharp eye upon any

stray parties of them whom you may meet.”

Hassan thanked the Pasha for his advice, and spent the remainder of the

day in trying and examining the horses sent for approval, twenty-five of

which he retained and cast the remainder. On the following morning he

went out before sunrise to the horse-market and selected five, which

completed the number required: they were forthwith sent on to the

appointed depot, and Hassan was ordered to write to Ibrahim Pasha’s

agent to inquire whether any more were to be provided. When he brought

this letter to his chief to be sealed the latter abruptly asked him—

“Have you ever played the jereed?”

“Often,” replied Hassan; “we had a game somewhat similar when I was a

boy among the Bedouins, and afterwards I practised it now and then among

the Mamelukes of some of the beys and pashas in Alexandria.”

“I am glad of that,” said Delì Pasha; “to-morrow, Inshallah! there is to

be a match in our courtyard, and Kiahia Pasha is coming with some of his

Mamelukes. I have given it up myself,” he added with a sigh, “but I love

to look at it still.”

Hassan spent the greater part of the afternoon with his little patient,

conversing by notes which they handed one to the other. This, however,

was too slow a process to satisfy the quick and intelligent boy, who

proposed to teach his protector the alphabet which he had either learnt

or invented with his fingers. Hassan assented, and studied his lesson

with so much assiduity that after a short time, to the great delight of

little Murad, they were able to converse together without the aid of pen

and paper.

On the following morning all the house was astir early, making

preparations for the jereed-playing and for the reception of the Kiahia

Pasha, who had written to ask whether he might bring with him some

English visitors, recommended to him by the Viceroy, and who were

anxious to see the Oriental tournament. To this Delì Pasha had replied

by a hospitable affirmative; and while refreshments, flowers, and

sherbets were heaped upon a table in the large saloon, carpets and sofas

were spread along the verandah which ran along the whole back part of

the house, overlooking the large arena where the games were to take

place.

At the appointed hour the Kiahia arrived in great state on horseback,

with a gay and numerous retinue, for there was only one _carriage_ in

Cairo—that belonging to the Viceroy. Immediately following them came the

whole party of the Thorpes, the strangers in whose favour the Kiahia had

asked for an invitation.

Delì Pasha welcomed them with his accustomed frank hospitality, and

Hassan, who was in attendance on him, received and returned the friendly

salutations of all the party. Demetri’s talents were now called into

exercise, and as he had not the piercing eye of the Viceroy fixed upon

him, he ornamented the phrases he was called upon to translate with all

manner of Oriental tropes and figures. Hassan detected his additions and

embellishments, but he only smiled and made no comment on them.

After the usual ceremony of pipes and coffee had been duly observed,

Delì Pasha led his guests to the verandah, placing the Kiahia in the

centre, in the seat of honour, and left the others to arrange their

seats according to their own fancy and convenience.

“Let the games begin,” shouted Delì Pasha to Ahmed Aga, his _mirakhor_,

and in a moment all was hurry and confusion in the space below. The

Mamelukes of the Kiahia Pasha first entered the arena, well mounted and

superbly dressed; after them poured in those of Delì Pasha, most of them

wild youths, but admirable horsemen, and well skilled in the games about

to be played.

Immediately in front of the verandah was a thick post or column of wood,

on the top of which was placed a human head cut out of wood, not unlike

those on which European barbers model wigs. The first exercise for the

horsemen was to ride past this head at full speed and carry it off with

the point of the lance. Just as the games were about to commence, Delì

Pasha noticed that Hassan was standing in an attitude of abstraction a

few yards off, at the back of the verandah.

“Why, Hassan, are you not going to play?” said the Pasha

good-humouredly; “I thought you had said you were fond of the exercise.”

“If your Excellency has no need of my service here,” replied Hassan, “I

will join the game.”

“Go, my lad,” said the Pasha; “but do not ride that ungovernable

Shèitan, or his mad freaks will get you into trouble.”

“Shèitan is quiet and well-behaved now,” replied Hassan; “your

Excellency will see that he is not bad at the jereed.”

The game began, and the Mamelukes galloped in succession at the wooden

head with their long spears, some carrying it off, and the greater

number missing it; and while they were thus employed Hassan entered the

arena from the stable entrance mounted on Shèitan. Whether it was that

the latter had been left unexercised the preceding day, or that he was

excited by the crowd and the galloping and neighing of strange horses,

certain it is that his behaviour seemed much more to justify Delì

Pasha’s caution than Hassan’s good report. He reared, he plunged, he

shook his long mane, and every now and then he bounded into the air as

if maddened by anger or excitement. Hassan sat easy and unconcerned, and

his usual good-natured smile played over his lips as he patted the

horse’s neck and said—

“Shèitan, you are playful this morning.”

“Mashallah! what a noble horseman is that Mameluke of yours!” exclaimed

the Kiahia, addressing Delì Pasha; “where is he from?”

“He is not a Mameluke,” replied Delì Pasha; “he is my _khaznadâr_,

lately arrived. He was brought up among the Bedouins; in a room he is as

quiet and still as a cat, but on a horse he is as mad as the animal he

is now riding,” and as he spoke he shouted aloud to Hassan to come under

the verandah.

In a second Hassan’s stirrup touched the flank of Shèitan, who bounded

into the air, and then came at full speed to within a few yards of the

house, when he stopped dead short, while Hassan looked up to inquire the

orders of his chief.

“Hassan,” said Delì Pasha, “I told you that it would be impossible for

you to play at these games on the back of that wild, unruly beast; had

you not better change it for one more manageable? You may ride one of

mine if you will.”

“Bakkalum [we shall see], my lord,” was Hassan’s only reply, and

wheeling his horse, he charged in full career at the head on the post.

Lowering his lance as he approached, he struck the head so full in the

centre that the point of the lance entered several inches into the wood,

and there it remained, while Hassan, galloping round the arena, came

again under the verandah, and, holding up his lance, presented the head,

still fixed on it, to Delì Pasha.

“Aferin! [bravo! bravo!] my son!” said the old Pasha, and it was echoed

by many a surrounding voice.

The post was now taken away, and the lists were prepared for the jereed.

The Mamelukes divided themselves into parties preparatory to the mimic

fight, which was indeed nothing more than a succession of single

combats. In the centre of the arena were a score of active _sàises_, or

grooms on foot, whose duty it was to pick up the jereeds as they fell

and hand them to the mounted combatants.

At this moment Osman Bey, Delì Pasha’s wakeel, who thought the preceding

game beneath his dignity, entered the arena, followed by several of his

Mamelukes. He was dressed in a rich costume which was well calculated to

show off the proportions of his strong and muscular figure, and mounted

on a grey Arab, which for the first two years of its life had been fed

on camels’ milk in the deserts of the Nejd, and though not remarkable

for size, was compactly and beautifully proportioned. Osman Aga was a

practised horseman—firm in the saddle, strong in the arm, and proud of

the reputation that he had gained in the mimic combats of the jereed.

With a grave salute to the Kiahia and Delì Pasha, he took his place at

the centre of one side of the arena, and the game began.

While Osman Bey and the elder Mamelukes engaged each other in a

succession of these trials of skill and speed, Hassan hovered on the

outskirts of the combatants, at some distance from the house, apparently

engaged in repelling the attacks of half-a-dozen of the youngest of the

Mamelukes of Delì Pasha’s household. He was a general favourite with

these lads, for whom he had on all occasions a kind word and a

good-humoured smile, and the merry youngsters well knew that however

they might pursue and torment him with their jereeds, they had no reason

to fear his putting out his strength to injure them in repelling their

attacks. Thus one would call out to him, “Hassan! Hassan!” and charge

him at full speed on the right; and scarcely had he time to catch or

avoid the jereed ere another attacked him with similar shouts on the

left. Some of them struck him more than one smart blow on the shoulder

with a jereed, and they shouted and laughed, while Hassan joined in

their merriment.

But it was not only to play with these merry youths that Hassan had

withdrawn to a part of the ground at some distance from the place where

the older combatants were engaged. His quick eye, which ever and anon

roved to a certain lattice high up in the adjoining building, had

detected that it was partially opened, and revealed to him half of the

lovely face ever in his thoughts peeping out upon the arena; he believed

that those eyes followed his movements, and he availed himself of every

opportunity, when he could do so unnoticed, to cast an upward glance to

meet them. But he was not destined to remain long without more serious

employment, for several of the older and more experienced of the

combatants in turn challenged him, by shouting his name and charging him

at full speed. The first was his friend Ahmed Aga, whose jereed passed

close over his back without touching him.

Hassan pursued him in turn, and, pretending to use much force, struck

him lightly on the shoulder; next he was charged by the chief of the

Kiahia Pasha’s Mamelukes—a very handsome Georgian, and the only one who

had this day interchanged several bouts with Osman Bey with nearly equal

success.

Hassan prepared for this encounter with more caution. On the charge of

his opponent he fled (as is the custom of the game) at full speed,

looking back over his shoulder. The Georgian threw his jereed with

faultless aim, when Hassan, instead of avoiding, caught it in the air,

and, wheeling suddenly, pursued the Georgian, and struck him on the back

with his own jereed. This feat, which is one of the most difficult of

those practised in the game, elicited a loud “Aferin!” from Delì Pasha.

Osman Bey no sooner heard it than, fired by spite and jealousy, he shook

his jereed in the air, shouted the name of Hassan, and bore down upon

him at the full speed of his high-mettled Arab. Hassan had barely time

to avoid the charge by wheeling Shèitan and striking the spurs into his

flanks. Still over his shoulder he watched every movement of his

pursuer. At length the Bey’s jereed sped through the air with unerring

aim; every one thought that Hassan was fairly hit, but he had thrown

himself suddenly over the right side of his horse, hanging only by the

left leg on the saddle, and the jereed passed harmlessly over him.

Recovering himself instantaneously, he now pursued in turn, and his

jereed struck Osman Bey fairly on the shoulder. The bout being over,

Hassan was cantering leisurely away, when the Bey, goaded to madness at

having been defeated by one whom he considered a boy, galloped again

after him, and hurled a jereed with all his force at Hassan’s head.

Hassan, hearing a horse approaching at full speed from behind, had just

turned his head to see what it might be, when the jereed flew past him.

The movement had saved him from a serious blow, but the stick grazed the

edge of his cheek and drew blood as it passed. A loud shout broke from

Delì Pasha, “Foul, foul! shame, shame!”[58]

All the fire that slumbered in Hassan’s impetuous nature was kindled by

this cowardly outrage. Forgetting the rank of his opponent, and every

other consideration but revenging the blow he had received, he snatched

a jereed from the hand of a _sàis_ standing by. Striking his sharp spurs

into the flanks of Shèitan, he pursued his adversary with such terrific

speed that even the grey Arab could not carry its rider out of his

reach. Rising in his stirrups, he threw the jereed with all his force,

and it struck the Bey full in the back, just between the

shoulder-blades. The blow sounded over the whole arena, and having taken

effect just in that part of the back which is nearest to the action of

the lungs, the unfortunate Bey’s breath was for the time totally

suspended. He seemed paralysed, and after swaying backwards and forwards

for a few seconds in the saddle, fell heavily to the ground. Had not his

docile Arab stopped immediately beside him, his hurts would probably

have been much more serious.

After a few minutes, during which water was thrown in the Bey’s face by

his Mamelukes, he recovered the power of speech; but he was still faint

and weak, and after casting on Hassan a look of concentrated,

inextinguishable hate, he withdrew, supported by his servants, from the

ground. This accident occurring to a man of such high rank, and

universally feared, broke up the sports for the day.

“I am sorry for it,” said Delì Pasha, addressing Mr Thorpe; “but Hassan

was perfectly justified, and Osman Bey only got what he deserved.”

The spectators and combatants were gathered into little knots and

groups, all uttering similar sentiments, and some adding, “This is an

unlucky thing for Hassan—Osman Bey never forgives—’tis a brave youth,

but the cup of coffee or the dagger will be his fate.”[59]

After the breaking up of the games, Hassan, having given over Shèitan to

the groom to be taken to the stable, before he re-entered the house cast

a furtive glance upward at the well-known lattice in the harem. This

time he could not be mistaken—a white forehead and dark lustrous eyes

were certainly visible at the curtained aperture, but they were hastily

and timidly withdrawn when they encountered his eager glance.

“’Tis she—’tis the star of my destiny—the life-blood of my heart,” said

Hassan to himself, “whoever and whatever she may be. Well! she has this

day seen that, humble and unknown as I am, the proudest bey in Egypt

shall not insult me with impunity.” And he strode into the house so

completely occupied with dreams of the future that he nearly ran against

Ahmed Aga, who was coming to tell him that the Pasha had sent for him.

On reaching the upper room where they were assembled, the Kiahia Pasha

paid him so many compliments on his uncontested superiority over all his

competitors that Hassan looked quite confused; indeed, he had been so

much taken up with other thoughts that he had not been aware, until Delì

Pasha called his attention to the fact, that the blood was still

trickling from the wound he had received in his cheek.

“It is nothing,” said Hassan, smiling, and applying his handkerchief

carelessly to it. “I hope Osman Bey’s back will suffer as little.”

“Hassan,” said Delì Pasha, addressing our hero, “the Kiahia informs me

that in the course of a day or two our English guests are going to pay a

visit to the Pyramids, and that he sends with them a guard of fifty

horsemen. They have expressed a desire that you should join their party,

as you are already old acquaintances. If you wish to do so, you have my

full permission.”

Hassan accepted the invitation readily, for, notwithstanding the

latticed window, from which it was difficult to tear himself away, he

had an undefined longing to visit a spot connected with his earliest

years and the mystery of his birth.

After the departure of the Kiahia and the Thorpe party, Delì Pasha

detained Hassan alone and said to him—

“This is a bad business, Hassan; Osman Bey is now your enemy, and he is

a dangerous man. I will tell you something of his life. Years ago, when

he was in charge of some money to pay the troops, Mohammed Ali

discovered that he had appropriated a portion of it to his own use, and

forthwith caused him to be severely beaten and thrown into prison; after

his release he accompanied Ibrahim Pasha to the war against the

Wahabees, where he gained a high reputation—for, to give him his due, he

is a good soldier—and regained his Highness’s favour. Since then

Mohammed Ali, whose habit is to raise up those whom he has

disgraced,[60] has made him a bey, and treated him with much regard. Now

he is named to be my wakeel or vice-governor at Siout, and as I know him

to be a cruel and revengeful man, I fear he will find some opportunity

of doing you an injury.”

“I fear him not,” said Hassan boldly. “I have nothing to do with him; I

serve your Excellency, and if he seeks a quarrel with me, let him do so;

I am ready.”

“He will not seek a quarrel with you,” said Delì Pasha, smiling at

Hassan’s simplicity. “Have you heard of calumny and slander? Have you

heard of poison in a cup of coffee? Have you heard of stabbing in the

dark? These are the weapons that great men in Egypt use when they wish

to get rid of one whom they hate.”

“I fear him not,” repeated Hassan with the same frank boldness. “My life

is in the hand of Allah, and neither Osman Bey nor any other man can

take it until the predestined day arrives. Let him try his treacherous

schemes if he will, he may perhaps learn the truth of our Arabic

proverb, ‘He dug a pit for his neighbour, and he fell into it himself.’”

While this conversation was going on between Delì Pasha and Hassan,

Amina was sitting in her upper room, to which her slaves had just

brought up a tray covered with sweetmeats and fruits. Mansour, the old

eunuch, followed, bearing a cool sherbet of pomegranate. The younger

slaves being ordered to retire, there remained only with Amina, Mansour

and her governess, Fatimeh Khanum, both of whom had witnessed the jereed

play—the eunuch from the front building, and the elder lady from another

window in the harem, for Amina had not made the latter the confidant of

her secret visits to the lattice in the boudoir. With well-assumed

indifference Amina asked Fatimeh Khanum and Mansour to relate all the

particulars of the games, which she had followed with an eye a thousand

times more eager than theirs.

Hassan was a great favourite with them both, and as they expatiated on

his noble figure, his grace and skill in the use of the jereed, and his

unequalled horsemanship, Amina’s blushes mantled on her cheeks and

overspread her neck. Not satisfied with hearing the praises of Hassan

from the lips of her attendants, she wished to hear them also from those

of her father, and after Mansour had retired to the other wing of the

harem, she said to Fatimeh Khanum—

“Fatimeh, I have a great desire to see my father this evening, and to

hear from him all about those Franks who were his visitors to-day. Go to

him and ask him if he will take supper with his little Amina. I will

have prepared for him all the dishes that he best likes.”

Fatimeh, who could never refuse anything to her beloved pupil, and who,

from her mature age and position in the harem, was always permitted by

the Pasha to come to him in his outer apartments through the private

door of communication whenever she had any message from his daughter,

willingly undertook this commission. After passing the eunuchs at the

curtained door, she proceeded along the narrow passage which led towards

the room usually occupied by Delì Pasha, but before reaching it she had

to pass through an anteroom, in which, to her surprise, she found Hassan

walking up and down alone. She was about to withdraw, when he came

forward and said to her, “Lady, do not retire on my account. You were

going to seek our Pasha; he will soon be disengaged. A visitor, a Bey

whose name I did not hear, has just called, and has something for the

Pasha’s private ear. His Highness ordered all the other attendants into

the outer hall, and told me to remain here.”

Fatimeh Khanum knew that she ought to retire, but there was something in

Hassan’s voice and appearance which detained her in spite of herself.

“Am I mad? Am I under sorcery? What is there that draws me to this youth

by unknown cords?”

Such were the thoughts which followed each other through Fatimeh’s

troubled brain, when her eye happened to fall upon Hassan’s wounded

cheek, on which a patch of blood was visible. A woman’s instincts

impelled her at once to exclaim—

“Allah! Allah! you are wounded. Why has no one stopped or washed away

the blood?” And without waiting for his permission, she caught up one of

the porous jugs of water found in almost every Egyptian room and drew

near to Hassan.

“It is nothing, my aunt,” said Hassan, calling her by the name of

affectionate respect given by the Arabs to elderly ladies; “but I will

submit to your kind surgery.”

While she was gently washing off the blood, and afterwards binding up

the wound with a fine Turkish handkerchief, a sudden idea seemed to

strike Hassan, and scarcely had she completed her simple dressing of his

wound than he seized her hand, saying, “Thank you; may Allah prolong

your life! I see you have a heart. Have pity on me.”

“What is it, my son?” said Fatimeh in surprise. “Wherein can I serve

you?”

“Oh, my aunt, my heart is on fire with love—my liver is roasted[61]—and

if you do not find some remedy I shall die.”

“My son,” said Fatimeh compassionately, though unable to repress a

smile, “the complaint is not uncommon at your age; but how can I assist

you? What is the name of your love, and who is she?”

“I know not her name, nor who she is,” replied Hassan passionately; “but

you must know her, for she dwells in the harem with you.”

“In the harem!” said Fatimeh, surprised. “There are doubtless some fair

maidens in our Pasha’s harem, but how can you have seen them?”

“Ask me not how,” said Hassan, who would not disclose the secret of the

lattice and of the aperture near the roof; “but I have seen her, and she

is lovely as a Houri of Paradise.”

“It is strange,” said Fatimeh, musing; “but do not despair. Our Pasha

has already married more than one of his favourite Mamelukes to fair

maidens from his harem, and if you serve him faithfully you may yet

realise your hopes.”

“Inshallah! Inshallah!” replied Hassan; “yet, Khanum, I would like to

know her name, that I might whisper it to my heart and in my prayers.”

“Agaib!” (wonderful!) said the Khanum, still in a musing tone. “Can it

be Zeinab, the Circassian, who came last year from Stamboul?—she is

small, with dark-brown hair and deep blue eyes.”

“No, no, it is not she,” said Hassan impatiently.

The Khanum then proceeded to name one or two others, giving a slight

sketch of their features and appearance. But the same “No, no” broke

from the impatient Hassan. She was sorely puzzled; for supposing that

Hassan had by some accident caught a glimpse of one of the young slaves

while attending the Pasha’s wives to the bath or to some visit, the idea

of her young mistress, who had not once left the harem since Hassan’s

arrival, never entered her head.

“I fear, Hassan, that I cannot help you. Methinks you must have seen

some stranger coming to visit at our harem, for I have named all those

who are young and attractive within our walls. Cannot you describe her

in such a way as to assist my conjecture?”

“Describe her!” said Hassan, lowering his voice to a tremulous whisper.

“Every feature, every look, every hair of her head is written in my

heart!” He then proceeded to describe the features, the eyes, the looks,

the complexion, the hair, with such accurate fidelity that Fatimeh,

fairly thrown off her guard, exclaimed—

“Allah! Allah! it is Amina Khanum, our Pasha’s daughter!”

“Amina!” cried Hassan. “Thrice blessed name,[62] henceforth thou art the

locked treasure of my breast. I thank thee, Khanum, for giving me the

beloved name to think of by day and to dream of by night.”

“Are you mad?” said the Khanum, wringing her hands in agitation and

distress. “Do you remember your own position, and who the Lady Amina is?

Do you know that the highest and proudest in the land have sued for her

hand in vain?”

“I know,” said Hassan with deep feeling. “I know who I am—that I am a

poor unknown orphan, without name, without fortune. It is the love that

I bear to Amina, not the thought that she is a pasha’s daughter, which

prompts me to bow my head and kiss the dust on which she treads. Were

she a slave-girl in the harem my worship of her would be still the same.

It is herself, her own pure image—not her station or her jewels—that I

treasure in my heart of hearts. You say that her hand has been sought by

the great and the rich. What are they,” he added, drawing himself

proudly up, “that I may not become? Pashas and beys, forsooth—what were

they at my age?—‘Mamelukes,’ ‘pipe-bearers,’ and so forth. What was

Mohammed Ali at twenty? Let the proudest and the best of them stand

forth before me with sword and lance and prove who best deserves her.

Will they climb for her as I would to the highest summits of the

Kaf?[63] Will they dive for her as I would to the lowest depths of

ocean? Will they live for her, toil for her, bleed for her, die for her,

as I would? My kind aunt,” he added in a low and pleading tone, “have

pity on me, speak to Amina for me; tell her that Hassan’s heart is in

her hand, and that it is only for her that he lives and breathes.”

“Alas! alas!” said the kind-hearted Khanum, moved by the young man’s

earnest passion. “What misfortune has befallen? There is no refuge but

in God, the compassionate. I pity you, Hassan, with all my heart; but

you know that I dare not speak to Amina on such a subject. I am the

guardian and protector of her youth, and I can name to her no suitor who

does not appear with her father’s sanction. Surely she can have no

knowledge or thought of this insane passion?” she added in a tone of

inquiry.

“I know not,” replied Hassan confusedly. “It seems to me that she has

been in my heart and in my dreams from my earliest youth; her image is

interwoven with my being, with my destiny; it floats in the very air I

breathe, impregnating it with sweetness and with life. I know not

‘whether the zephyrs and the spirit of dreams have wafted the odour of

my vows to the pillow on which the roses of her cheek repose.’”[64]

The Khanum was about to reply when the sound of approaching footsteps

was heard, and a servant entered to inform Hassan that the Pasha’s

visitor had departed and that his attendance was required.

“Khanum,” said Hassan, who had by a strong effort recovered his

composure, “if you have business with the Pasha, I pray you enter first;

I can await his Excellency’s pleasure.”

Poor Fatimeh, though scarcely able to control the agitation into which

the events of the last few minutes had thrown her, adopted the

suggestion of Hassan, and entering the Pasha’s apartment delivered the

message with which she had been charged by Amina.

“Tell my Morning Star,” said Delì Pasha, “that I will willingly come and

sup with her; indeed, I was going to propose it myself, for I have much

to say to her. Draw nearer, Khanum,” he added in a lower voice. “I know

you are a discreet woman, and that you are much attached to Amina,

therefore I may tell you that Hashem Bey (Allah knows what a rich old

miser he is) has just been here, and the object of his visit was to

propose a marriage between her and his son Selim.”

This sudden announcement was too much for the poor Khanum’s already

over-excited nerves; she staggered and would have fallen had not the

Pasha started up and supported her to the divan on which he had been

seated.

“What is the matter, O Khanum?” he said. “What is there in this news to

cause you so much agitation? Is not Selim a youth well-born, well-spoken

of, rich, and high in the favour of our lord the Viceroy?”

“Forgive me,” said the Khanum in a broken voice; “a sudden faintness, a

giddiness came over me—perhaps—perhaps it was the thought that this

marriage would separate me for ever from my beloved child.”

“Nay,” said the rough old Pasha, moved by her grief and the cause to

which she had attributed it. “I know the love you bear to my Amina, and

you must also know that the separation of which you speak would be yet

more hard for me than for you to bear, but some day it must be endured.

Amina is now of an age to marry, and it would be difficult to find a

husband more worthy of her choice than Selim. But no more at present;

compose yourself; say nothing of this to Amina—I will break it to her

myself; only tell her that I will come and sup with her at sunset.”

Fatimeh Khanum retired, and as she hurried through the room in which she

had left Hassan, he marked her agitated step and caught the words, “Oh,

grief! oh, misfortune!” ere she disappeared behind the curtained door

that led to the harem.

After her departure Hassan remained for some time with Delì Pasha,

receiving orders and writing letters on subjects connected with his

private affairs; and when these were concluded he retired, and passed

the remainder of the afternoon in finger-talk with his dumb _protégé_,

whose intelligence and knowledge of all that was passing at Cairo he

found to be much beyond his years. The boy seemed so happy and grateful

that Hassan found a real pleasure in perfecting himself in the practice

of finger-conversation.

At sunset Delì Pasha proceeded to take his supper with Amina, who, with

the instinctive tact of an affectionate daughter, had not only taken

care to provide the dishes that he most fancied, but had arranged the

cushions of his divan so that they were perfectly adapted to his

habitual attitude—they were neither too soft nor too hard, nor too high

nor too low, nor too broad nor too narrow; and as she knelt playfully

before him, and placed in his hand the gold-thread purse which she had

just finished, he stooped to kiss her fair forehead, and meeting the

upturned glance of her eyes beaming with affection, he said, “Allah

bless thee, my child!” with an earnest tenderness, of which those who

had known him in the days of his wild and wayward youth, would not have

believed his nature capable.

Fatimeh Khanum was not present. The supper was brought up to the door by

eunuchs, and served by the women attendants who usually waited on Amina.

Delì Pasha did not fail to praise several dishes which had been prepared

expressly for him with unusual care, not that the old soldier was a

gourmand, but he recognised and appreciated the affectionate zeal

evinced by Amina to please him.

During the supper he talked about the events of the morning and the

English strangers, and it was arranged that he should send an invitation

to Mrs Thorpe and her daughter to visit his harem. They were to be

received by his eldest wife, but Amina might be present, as she would be

interested in seeing the Frank ladies’ manners, appearance, and dress.

The Pasha also alluded to the jereed game, and to the actors therein,

and while so doing, he mentioned Hassan in terms which brought the

tell-tale blood into Amina’s cheeks. He spoke of him not only as being

unequalled in horsemanship and skill in arms, but as being remarkable

for his truth, modesty, and integrity.

“I like the lad,” said the old Pasha; “he is of a kind rarely found

nowadays—a hot head, a ready arm, and a warm heart, but no _laf guizaf_

[talk and boasting]. If we had another war with the Wahabees, or with

any other nation, that lad might soon be a Pasha; but in these dull

times there is no fortune to be won by the sword. So Hassan must remain

_khaznadâr_ of a very small _khazneh_.[65] Such is destiny, Amina—all is

destiny.”

Little did the unconscious father think that in every word which he was

then uttering he was fanning a flame already kindled in his young

daughter’s breast.

No sooner was the supper over, and the Pasha had enjoyed his pipe and

his coffee, than he called Amina to his side, and pushing back the

tresses from her face, said to her, “Morning Star, you are no longer a

child—you are a little woman now.”

The fair girl’s heart had lately explained to her this truth in language

more expressive and convincing than her father’s.

He then proceeded to relate to her the visit of Hashem Bey and its

object, together with the reasons which made him take a favourable view

of Selim’s proposal, in words nearly similar to those which he had used

when speaking to Fatimeh Khanum in the morning. Had the lights not been

at some distance from the divan, and the room itself rather dark, he

would have been frightened at the paleness which overspread his

daughter’s face, though one little hand strove to cover it. She did not

speak, but he felt the death-like coldness of the other little hand,

which was clasped in his. “Speak, my child; what ails thee?” he said.

“Marriage is the destiny, the blessing of women. What is there to

terrify thee in these proposals from a youth who is rich, worthy, and of

a condition equal to your own?” She sank on her knees before him and

sobbed rather than said—

“Spare me, father! spare me!—save me from this hated marriage.” And as

she bowed her head upon his hands, he felt her tears falling hot and

fast upon them.

Astonished at this excessive and unexpected emotion, the fond father

spoke gently to her, and used all the arguments which he could think of

to reconcile her to the proposed match. For some time tears and sobs

were her only reply. At length she found strength to say—

“Father, I will obey you in everything. My life is in your hands. But if

you do not wish to break my heart and send me to an early grave, save me

from this marriage. I do not wish to leave you, father. At least give me

a year’s or six months’ delay.”

Delì Pasha could not resist the pleading grief of his beloved child.

Secretly unwilling himself to part from her, he consented to the delay

for which she so earnestly entreated.

“Be comforted, light of my eyes,” he said; “it is only your welfare and

happiness that I wish. Dry up your tears and let me see you smile again.

I have not passed my word to Hashem Bey. I will write to him that I wish

you to go with me to Siout, and that the time for betrothal is not now

opportune. That if after six months he desires to renew the subject, it

can be then taken into consideration. Will that satisfy you, Amina?”

Amina did look up, and though her eyes were still bedewed with tears,

rays of hope and joy and gratitude shone through them like sunbeams

through an April shower. Covering his hands with her kisses, she

exclaimed, “Oh, father, you have given me a second life—you are always

too good, too kind to your Amina.”

What bright hopes, what sunny visions had the young girl’s sanguine

imagination conceived and crowded into the space of six months! Selim

would be gone to Turkey or the other world, Hassan would be a bey or

pasha!

“My child, it is time for you to go to rest,” said Delì Pasha. “Allah

bless you! may your night be happy, and to-morrow let me see my Morning

Star shine as brightly as ever.” With an affectionate kiss on her

forehead he went across to his own apartments.

Delì Pasha was neither a suspicious nor a reflecting man, but he had a

fair share of good sense when he chose to exert it, and the more he

mused on the events of the day the more did he feel puzzled and unable

to explain them: the strange emotion and agitation of Fatimeh Khanum,

usually so staid and tranquil in her bearing, the still more violent

emotion and agitation of his daughter on receiving proposals of marriage

from a suitor altogether unexceptionable, and whose name he imagined

must be unknown to her. “Surely,” he said to himself, “these women must

have heard some story against Selim, that he is hateful, or cruel, or

brutal. I must inquire of Fatimeh Khanum and find this out.”

While he was indulging in these meditations Amina had locked herself

into her boudoir, and having loosened the bands that confined her hair,

left it to fall all over her lovely neck and shoulders; then, drawing

forth her small praying-carpet, she went through her accustomed prayers,

bowing her fair forehead upon it, and thanking Allah for having

preserved her from a danger the recollection of which still made her

shudder.

She went to the lattice and gently, very gently, opened the side of it.

She could see nothing, for the moon was not up, neither could she be

seen, though Hassan was watching like a true sentinel of love: the

creaking of the half-opened lattice did not, however, escape his quick

ear, and ere she retired from it she heard in a half-whispered tone,

that seemed to hover in the air, the following verses:—

“Extolled be the Lord who hath endued with all beauty she who hath

enslaved my heart.

I see her not, I hear her not, yet I feel the fragrance of her presence

like concealed spikenard.

My love is the moon, and I am a solitary cloud wandering over the face

of the sky—

A cloud obscure and unnoticed; but let the moon shine upon it, and

straightway it is robed in silver.”[66]

The following morning Hassan was for some time with Delì Pasha

explaining to him the results of his examination of his predecessor’s

accounts, and pointing out defalcations and deficiencies in some

quarters, and certain sums due, but not collected, in others. Delì Pasha

hated accounts and business, but he saw so much earnest zeal in Hassan’s

desire to render them clear that he forced himself to give them some

attention, and even that little sufficed to make it evident that his

former _khaznadâr_[67] had complicated them on purpose to cheat him, and

that his present one made them as simple as possible, and compensated

for his want of experience by his conscientious industry. Scarcely had

he got through the summary which Hassan had drawn up, ere he clapped his

young treasurer on the shoulder and broke out into a fit of laughter.

“Hassan,” he said, “you are the cream of _khaznadârs_, and I am sensible

of all the zeal and industry you have shown, but I cannot help laughing

when I see my young Bedouin-Antar doing the work of a Coptic clerk.”

“I grant,” said Hassan, smiling, “that the pen is not so familiar to my

hand as the lance; but if I know too little, I see plainly that my

predecessor knew too much, and I hope that the _khazneh_ will furnish

you with more purses this year than the last. It is my wish and duty to

do you good service, and be it with lance or pen, Inshallah! I will do

it.”

“Would you like a little exercise for your lance?” said Delì Pasha. “I

do not mean a jereed game, but a few sharp thrusts and hard blows in

earnest.”

“On my head be it—I am ready,” said Hassan, his eyes brightening. “Where

is such occupation to be found?”

“I have this morning received a note from the Kiahia,” said Delì Pasha,

drawing it out as he spoke from under a cushion of his divan, “and he

tells me that a band of the Sammalous tribe have lately come up on a

plundering expedition from their own country, near the Bahirah, and have

ravaged several villages near Ghizeh, carrying off money and horses. It

is said that they are now not very far from the Pyramids. The Kiahia

proposes to send eighty horsemen instead of fifty to escort the English

party going to-morrow to the Ghizeh Pyramids: forty can remain to guard

them, and the remaining forty can make an excursion into the desert and

try to find and capture these Sammalous thieves. He adds in his note

that he should be glad if you could accompany that party, as you were

trained in Bedouin warfare, and he has formed a high opinion of your

skill and courage. What say you to the proposal?”

“Most willingly will I go,” replied Hassan, “to have a bout with those

rascally Sammalous, who are the enemies of my old tribe the Oulâd-Ali.

The very last fight that I saw among the Arabs was with them, and they

wounded my adopted father.”

“El-hamdu-lillah” (Allah be praised), said Delì Pasha, “that the

expedition is to your taste. I will write to the Kiahia that you accept,

and will advise him to put the horsemen sent after the Sammalous under

your command. And now as a chance hurt may befall from lance or bullet,

and you might be unwilling to expose a horse not your own, to make your

mind easy on that score I make you a present of your friend Shèitan: you

have well deserved him, and, to say the truth, I do not believe he would

obey any other master.”

Hassan carried the Pasha’s hand to his lips and said, “May your life and

happiness be prolonged.”[68]

“Go, then, to-morrow morning,” continued Delì Pasha, “and Allah go with

you: the Kiahia’s horsemen will meet you at Ghizeh, where you will also

find one or two of those who were plundered by the Sammalous, and who

will aid you in tracking the party.”

Hassan took his leave, and as he went to his own room he met his dumb

_protégé_. Greeting him kindly, he informed him that he was going on an

excursion which might detain him a few days, and at the same time

thinking that the boy might be in want of some necessary during his

absence, he offered him a few small pieces of silver.

Murad smiled, and declined the money, showing his protector a few coins

of similar value in his own possession. In his rapid finger-language he

then explained to Hassan that he was now sufficiently recovered to run

with messages as before, and that he was already employed in this way at

a coffee-house and one or two other houses in the neighbourhood. With a

few words of encouragement Hassan left him and went on to his own room,

where he busied himself in examining and cleaning his pistols, which he

carefully loaded. He took care to see that both his sword and dagger

were loose in the sheath, and that the point of his lance was sharp.

While busied in these preparations, and in putting into his saddle-bags

the few articles of clothing which he meant to take with him, he hummed

rather than sung snatches of old Arab songs.

All at once the thought struck him that Amina might be at the lattice.

He crept up the ladder and peeped through the aperture, that could not

be called a window. There, indeed, was Amina, and the lattice was open,

and though the twilight was darkening, Hassan could see that she was

weeping, for the snowy Damascus kerchief was often applied to her eyes.

Hassan knew not what to do. He longed to comfort her, to sympathise with

her, but he knew that if he showed himself or made her aware of his

presence by addressing a word to her, she would immediately close the

lattice and withdraw. So he looked on in silence, and partook of her

unknown grief till the tears stole into his own eyes.

At length, unable any longer to keep silence, he drew his head away from

the aperture so that he could still see her but she could not see him.

He began to sing a well-known Turkish love-song in a very low tone. The

sound of the air, though not the words, reached her ear; she cast her

eyes furtively at the aperture in the opposite wall, but seeing nothing,

she did not withdraw. A little louder he sung, and the words reached her

ear, and she dried her tears and listened. It was a popular song, about

Youssuf and Zuleika, which, even if others could have heard, would not

compromise her; but her beating heart told her who was singing, and for

whom the song was meant. In the last verse the voice sank nearly to a

whisper. Still she caught the words, and the name of Amina was

substituted for Zuleika. With a deep blush she disappeared from the

casement, and all was silence and darkness.

On the following morning early Hassan set forth, mounted on Shèitan, and

crossed the Nile to Ghizeh by a ferry, which then, as now, existed at a

short distance to the southward of Boulak. He was accompanied by his

_sàis_, who drove before him a donkey carrying our hero’s saddle-bags,

and the large cloak and Arab blanket which served him on such occasions

for a bed.

On reaching Ghizeh he found the whole Thorpe party, with the horsemen

who were to accompany them, already arrived: there were also forty or

fifty donkeys laden with tents, bedding, cooking-utensils, and all the

creature comforts which Demetri’s foresight had prepared for a residence

of several days in the desert.

Hassan saluted them all in turn, and Demetri and Foyster insisted on

shaking hands with him in English fashion. After exchanging a few words

he turned towards the Kiahia’s horsemen, and was pleased to recognise in

their leader the same good-looking young Georgian whom he had seen at

the head of the Kiahia’s Mamelukes at the jereed play. Calling him on

one side, Hassan inquired whether he had any precise instructions as to

the course to be pursued for the discovery and seizure of the Sammalous

Arabs.

“Yes,” he replied; “I have a letter to the Governor of this district

ordering him to provide one or two villagers well acquainted with the

road to guide the English party to the Pyramids,[69] and also to place

under our charge two Arabs now waiting here who belong to the villages

robbed by the Sammalous, and who are supposed to have some knowledge of

the direction in which they have retreated.”

It was deemed advisable that the whole party should proceed towards the

divan of the Governor of Ghizeh, which was at no great distance from the

spot where they were now assembled. They moved onward accordingly, and

as they approached the Governor’s house the Georgian and Hassan rode

forward to demand an interview with that personage, while the remainder

of the party halted at a short distance from the house. They had not

been there long before their ears were saluted by sounds too familiar to

all who have passed any time in the neighbourhood of a Government divan

in Egypt—namely, the heavy and swiftly-descending blows of a stick,

accompanied by shrieks and cries of the victim, “Amân! amân! [mercy!

mercy!] I am dead. Mercy! mercy! You may kill me, but I have not a

farthing.”

The Europeans stopped their ears to shut out these painful sounds, while

Demetri, more accustomed to such sights, went forward to witness the

punishment, and ascertain what might be its cause and issue. The cries

died away into moans and groans, which soon became altogether inaudible,

leaving the Europeans to imagine that the sufferer was dead or had

fainted; and Mr Thorpe was virtuously and indignantly inveighing against

the barbarous cruelty of the Turkish governors when Demetri arrived.

As he approached they saw that he was convulsed with laughter, which

only redoubled Mr Thorpe’s indignation; and he asked the dragoman, in an

angry voice, how he could be so brutal as to jest over the agony and

torture of a fellow-creature.

“You shall hear, you shall hear, O my master,” said Demetri, still

unable to compose his features to a serious expression. “The man whom

they were beating is a fellah who occupies some land in the

neighbourhood, and though he sells his beans and his wheat like others,

he never has any money to pay the taxes on the day that they are

collected: either he has been robbed, or the crop failed, or the rats

devoured half of it, or he lost his purse on the road as he was coming

to pay in the money due to the Government—always some excuse; and though

for two successive seasons he has been severely beaten, they never could

find a piastre about his person nor extract one from him. This morning,

just as your Excellencies came, the same scene had been repeated: he had

vowed his inability to pay, and the Governor ordered him two hundred and

fifty blows on the feet. The fellow took them all, bawling and screaming

and groaning as you heard; and a stranger might well suppose that he was

almost, if not quite, murdered. As soon as he had received the number of

blows ordered, he was released, and began to stagger out of the

Governor’s presence as if he could scarcely stand on his feet. In doing

so he nearly ran up against one of the _kawàsses_ standing by, a strong,

rough fellow, who struck him a smart blow on the cheek with his open

hand. The suddenness of the blow took him so by surprise that it opened

his mouth unawares, and there dropped from it to the ground something

enveloped in a piece of rag. The _kawàss_ darted forward and seized it.

On opening it they found within four gold sequins, being the exact

amount of the sum which he owed to the Government. The rascal had come

with a full determination not to pay if he could help it, and rather to

take any amount of punishment he could conveniently bear: if he found

the beating carried to a length that his patience could not endure, he

could at any time stop it by producing the money. It seems that the two

hundred and fifty which he had received had produced little or no effect

on his leathern feet, and he was going off, chuckling at having cheated

the Government once more, when that accidental blow on the cheek made

him spit out the money.”[70]

It may be believed that this version of the story changed the compassion

of the Thorpe party into an inclination to laugh, and shortly afterwards

the fellah who had received the beating, and had unintentionally paid

his taxes, was pointed out to them by Demetri walking homeward to his

village, apparently with as little suffering in his feet as if he had

been beaten by children with straws.