While Mr Thorpe was discussing with the Missionary Müller the peculiar

features of character exhibited by the Egyptian fellah in the scene

which had just occurred, Hassan and the Georgian returned, accompanied

by the guides required, so the whole party set off merrily towards the

Pyramids.

Mr Thorpe had now reached the goal of wishes long entertained, for

although Thebes, Memphis, and other places of antiquarian interest had

mingled in his dreams, there was something in the grand and antique

simplicity of the Pyramids which had assigned to them a pre-eminence in

his imagination. Immediately on arriving he commenced his tour and

survey of the Great Pyramid with his daughter and Müller. Hassan went

with them also, rightly judging that his services might be necessary not

only to interpret for them, but to protect them against the importunity

of the Arabs, who had flocked in considerable numbers to see the

strangers, and to devise various projects for extracting money from

them. There were not then, as now, crowds of Arabs, half Bedouins, half

villagers, who make a living at the Pyramids by running up and down them

for prizes and assisting the numerous travellers to reach the top; but

there was even then a remnant of some tribe located there in tents, who

enjoyed a kind of prescriptive right to the custody of the place, and

Hassan and the Georgian had agreed to pay a score of these to act as

guards or watchmen while the party remained.

Mr Thorpe and Müller were already engaged in a discussion concerning the

history of the Pyramids; Emily had fallen a little behind, and was

turning to ask some question of Hassan, who had spoken to her a moment

before, when she observed him standing on a large stone at the base of

the Pyramid, his eyes cast down to the ground in a fit of profound

abstraction. There was an air of melancholy in his countenance, so

different from its usual expression, that she could not resist the

impulse which led her to ask him the subject of his meditations, which

she imagined to be something connected with the story of the Pyramids.

“Lady,” he replied in a tone of deep feeling, “the dream of my infancy

passed across my mind. This stone on which I stand was once my cradle.”

“Your cradle, Hassan! How mean you?”

“It is now about twenty years ago,” said Hassan, “that my foster-mother

was sitting here—perhaps on this very stone, for she said it faced

towards Cairo—when a horseman, believed to be my father, placed me—an

infant wrapped in a shawl—at her side, and fled at full speed. He has

never since been heard of. I know not who he was, nor whether he yet

lives. I know not who was my mother—I am a stray leaf blown about by the

wind of destiny.”

“Be assured he was no mean or ignoble man—it could not be,” said Emily.

“I hope you may yet find him, and be happy with him.”

“May Allah bless you, and grant this and all your other prayers,” said

Hassan. “But, lady, do not speak of this matter to others: though known

to many, it pains my heart to hear it spoken of.”

After making the tour of the Great Pyramid, and admiring with reverence

and wonder the architectural energy and skill which, in the infancy of

mankind, had piled upon each other those enormous blocks, brought from a

distance of many hundred miles, Mr Thorpe proposed to ascend, and to see

from the top the effect of a sunset on the valley of the Nile. A score

of Arabs were already on the alert to assist the worthy gentleman and

his party in the ascent, and so zealously obtrusive were they in their

manner of bestowing their assistance that Hassan was obliged to tell

them angrily not to pull and haul the strangers as if they were baskets

of dates. When they reached the top, what a magnificent spectacle

awaited them! There lay the broad and verdant valley of the Nile

stretched out beneath them. Far as the eye could reach were gardens,

villages, and palm-groves, among which the Nile, studded with white

sails, wound its sinuous course, while beyond its eastern bank rose the

Mother of the World,[71] her multitudinous domes and minarets all bathed

in the golden flood of the sun’s descending rays. All there felt the

softening influence of the hour—the imposing magnificence of the scene.

None dared to break the spell by an exclamation of admiration. Emily

glided to her father’s side and looked up in his face, and as he

returned the silent pressure of her hand, she saw that the heart of the

kind and enthusiastic antiquarian was filled with emotions that could

not find vent in words. After a while they descended as they had come

up, and found that the servants had prepared in their tent a dinner,

which, following the fatigues of the day, was far from unwelcome.

No sooner was Hassan free from the charge that he had undertaken, of

escorting Emily and her relatives to the Pyramids, than he hastened to

the Georgian’s tent to ascertain whether any intelligence had reached

him respecting the course taken by the Sammalous.

“Much,” replied the Georgian; “an Arab has arrived, a friend of those

whom we brought with us, who followed them stealthily at a distance and

saw the spot where they encamped, about fifteen miles to the north-west

of this place. They do not travel fast, as they are encumbered with the

number of the horses which they have captured, there being among them

some mares with foal.”

“Can I see and speak with this man?” said Hassan.

“Assuredly,” replied his friend, at the same time ordering his servant

to summon the Arab. The latter entered, and displayed to Hassan’s

scrutinising gaze a light sinewy frame and a shrewd intelligence. The

answers which he gave to Hassan’s minute inquiries were clear and

satisfactory, and from them he ascertained that the marauding party were

about fifty strong, mostly armed with lances, some heavy guns, and

pistols. “To overtake them will not be difficult,” added the Arab, “nor

to retake the horses—that is, if your own be swift and strong; but you

will never capture their leader, for he is mounted on Nebleh.”

“And what is Nebleh?” inquired Hassan.

“Have you never heard of Nebleh?” replied the Arab, eyeing our hero with

an expression something between surprise and contempt; “I thought every

one had heard of Nebleh.[72] She is the fleetest mare in the desert:

when or how the Sammalous stole her I know not, but none can catch her.”

“We will see that,” replied Hassan, smiling; then turning to the

Georgian he said to him, “My friend, it is true that I am younger than

you, and have less experience; nevertheless I am half a Bedouin, and

have seen something of these desert forays: will you be guided by me in

this expedition?”

“Willingly,” replied the Georgian, with corresponding frankness. “I and

my men will follow your counsel in everything.”

After a few minutes more of earnest conversation with the Arab, during

which Hassan learnt from him further particulars respecting the nature

of the ground, the existence or non-existence of water, &c., he turned

to the Georgian and said—

“My counsel, then, is that you select thirty-five of the best mounted of

your men, leaving the remainder here to guard the English party under

the charge of the Mameluke whom you consider most trustworthy: you and I

will both go in pursuit of the Sammalous. Let men and horses take food

now and rest till midnight, at which hour the moon will rise; let each

man secure to his saddle a bag containing eight or ten pounds of bread

and a few dates; our guide can lead us to water, not much nor good, but

for two days it will suffice, and in that time, Inshallah! we will

capture the rogues, and perhaps Nebleh too. Allah knows!”

The Georgian cheerfully acquiesced in Hassan’s proposal, being inspired

with confidence by the prompt decision with which he formed and uttered

it. The two friends then supped together, and separated to make the

preparations agreed upon.

At midnight the party moved silently out of the encampment, and, guided

by the Arab who had brought the intelligence, commenced their march over

the desert. For several hours there was no need for any precaution, and

Hassan and the Georgian, riding side by side at the head of their men,

conversed together with the frankness congenial to their age and

spirits. Both were eager for distinction, and both hoped for an

adventure that would do them honour. They talked much of Nebleh, and

Hassan said, as he patted the sleek neck of his now miscalled steed—

“If Shèitan once comes within ten spear-lengths of her and she escapes,

she must be swifter than any horse I have seen.”

“Truly he is a noble horse,” said the Georgian; “mine is not slow, and I

remember that on the day of the jereed I could neither escape your horse

nor your spear.”

“Nay,” replied Hassan, laughing, “these are but the chances of the game:

had your horse been swift as Shèitan my shoulder would have felt your

jereed.”

Thus discoursing, they followed their silent guide, who had not struck

into the heart of the desert, but had pursued a route parallel to that

taken by the Sammalous, and nearer to the cultivated ground. He halted

in a small hollow in which was a pool left by the receding waters of the

Nile, and around its edge a few patches of the herbs and grasses which

grow on the borders of the desert.

“We are now nearly opposite their last night’s encampment,” he said to

Hassan; “the moon is low, and we must remain here till dawn.”

The party dismounted accordingly to rest and refresh the horses and

await the first grey approach of dawn: no sooner did it appear than they

were again in motion, and from the summit of a small mound the guide

pointed to a curiously shaped hill to the westward, saying—

“Just below that hill they encamped last night.”

As soon as they reached its base the party was halted, and Hassan went

up with the guide to reconnoitre. When near the top they crept on their

hands and knees, and looked over into the plain below: it was of

considerable extent, and although they strained their eyes in every

direction, no trace could they see of man or horse.

“They have travelled faster than I expected,” said the Arab, in a tone

of disappointment; “they must already have passed over that ridge

opposite, for that is the way to the tents of their tribe.”

Hassan thought it now a good opportunity for trying the virtue of the

present that he had received the day before. Unslinging his telescope,

and adjusting its focus to the mark he had made on the brass, he

directed it to the range of hills pointed out by the guide: for some

time he looked in vain, but suddenly an exclamation of joy broke from

him.

“Praise to Allah, I have them now! one, two, three horsemen just going

over the ridge; the rest must have passed before.”

“Which way are they going?” inquired the guide.

Hassan pointed with his finger. “Good, good!” exclaimed the guide. “Wait

till you are sure that the last is past.”

After some minutes of careful and minute survey with the glass, during

which he satisfied himself that none remained on the near side of the

ridge, he made a sign to the party to advance, and informed his Georgian

friend of what he had seen. “El-hamdu-lillah!” was the joyous reply, and

Hassan having vaulted into the saddle, the party soon crossed the plain

at an easy canter. When they reached the ridge the same manœuvre was

repeated, and Hassan and the guide, creeping cautiously to the top, saw

the whole party of the Sammalous crossing the plain beyond, their

leisurely movement plainly indicating that as yet they had no idea of

pursuers being on their track.

Hassan now took a careful survey of the country, from which, as well as

from the opinion of the guide, he ascertained that at no great distance

on the right hand a valley or hollow ran in a direction nearly parallel

with that taken by the Sammalous. His decision was formed in a moment,

and he hastily descended to communicate it to his companions.

“There they are in that plain below,” he said. “I will take a dozen of

the best mounted of your men and gallop down that valley, so as to get

ahead of them and cut off their retreat. Give me two hours and then fall

on their track; we shall have them between us, and, Inshallah! they will

not escape us.”

No sooner said than put in execution. Hassan led the way down the valley

at a hand-gallop, checking, however, the speed of Shèitan so as not to

exhaust the horses of the troopers behind him. The ground favoured their

manœuvre, and they had already passed half the space requisite to enable

them to head the enemy when they suddenly came upon an Arab riding

leisurely up from a hollow at right angles to that which our hero was

following.

“It is one of the Sammalous,” he said, “who knows the country; he has

been down to a well in that hollow. If he once gets to the crest of the

hill he will give the alarm to his party, and our plan is spoiled: he

shall not do so if Shèitan’s breath holds good. Do you move gently

forward and spare your horses; leave me to deal with him.” So saying, he

struck the stirrups into Shèitan’s flanks, who darted forth like a bolt

from a crossbow.

The Sammalous no sooner saw a horseman approaching at full speed than he

divined that his followers were in pursuit of his party; he therefore

urged his horse to his utmost speed. But Hassan had been too quick for

him, and had got so far ahead on the hillside that he had nothing for it

but to fight or be taken prisoner, and being a bold, stout fellow, he

did not feel disposed to yield to a single enemy.

Hassan having got between the Sammalous and his party, reined up Shèitan

and called to him to lower his lance and surrender. The Sammalous,

seeing that Hassan’s followers were already visible in the distance, and

that no time was to be lost, made no other reply than by charging him at

full speed. Our hero, observing that his adversary’s lance was three or

four feet longer than his own, and that he could not await the charge,

dexterously avoided it by wheeling Shèitan suddenly to the right, and as

he passed in full career dealt him a blow on the head with his

_dabboos_,[73] which hurled him senseless from the saddle.

“Aferin! [bravo!] Ahmed Aga, my friend,” said Hassan to himself; “when

you gave me this weapon I did not think to employ it so soon and so

well!” So saying, he dismounted, and commenced operations by securing

the fallen man’s horse: after that he turned to examine the rider, whom

he found to be stunned and bruised, but not mortally hurt. Hassan kept

guard over him until the arrival of his friends. No sooner did they

appear than he said—

“We have no time to lose. The Sammalous knew that this fellow came

hither for water over that ridge; if he does not return they will begin

to suspect, and send a party to look for him, who would discover us

before our plan is ripe. I must throw dust in their eyes!” So saying, he

coolly proceeded to take off the striped blanket which the Sammalous

wore, and taking also the _kufiyah_ or kerchief which formed the

head-dress of the latter, he wrapped it round his own head.

Having thus disguised himself, Hassan mounted the horse of his fallen

adversary, who at that moment came to his senses, and sitting up, looked

on at what was going forward, and rubbed his eyes as if he were waking

out of a dream. Hassan desired one of the troopers to bind the man’s

hands fast behind him and to tie his feet, after which the party

proceeded according to his orders along the valley, whilst he himself,

trusting to his disguise, took the way towards the top of the hill which

divided his party from those of whom he was in pursuit.

As soon as he reached the summit he had the satisfaction of seeing them

in the plain immediately below. They were going at a slow pace, some of

the slaves and boys stopping and diverging to the right and left to

drive up the lagging mares and foals, while the main body pursued their

route, evidently unsuspicious of the vicinity of danger. Hassan had not

been a moment on the crest of the hill ere they perceived him; but as

they expected their comrade to reappear from that quarter, and they

recognised his horse, blanket, and head-dress, it was impossible for

them at that distance to distinguish the features or figure of the

rider, and the motions of Hassan were such as to disarm all suspicion,

as he rode leisurely and in a lazy attitude on a parallel line with

themselves, apparently allowing the horse to pick his own way. Meanwhile

he noted accurately their numbers and rate of march, so that he was able

to calculate with considerable exactness the most favourable point for

sweeping over the hill with his party to intercept their retreat. This

latter manœuvre he was obliged to defer until the appearance of the

Georgian and his followers in pursuit, his own being too few in number

to make a successful attack alone.

Hassan had not long to wait, for the time arranged between himself and

the Georgian had scarcely elapsed ere the latter appeared on the hill in

the rear, and began to cross the plain with his men at an easy gallop.

That he was noticed by the Sammalous was ere long evident from the

sudden stir and movement observable among their ranks, as they held a

hasty consultation whether they should abandon their booty or make a

stand in its defence. The party in pursuit being apparently not more

than half their own number, they resolved on the latter course; and from

the shouts and signs which they made to Hassan to come down and join

them, he conjectured that the man whom he had discomfited was of some

rank or consequence among them. Regardless of their signals, he

disappeared over the hill to join his own party, while the Sammalous

leader exclaimed to his followers, “Curses on Abd-el-Atah, on his

father, and on his mother; he sees we are about to be attacked, and he

gallops off to save his own skin!”

Having rejoined his party, Hassan vaulted on Shèitan, threw off his

disguise, and led them swiftly forward for about a mile, when perceiving

a small gorge or cleft in the hill which opened upon the plain, he

conducted his men through it, and had the satisfaction of seeing that

the body of the Sammalous were between the Georgian and himself.

“El-hamdu-lillah, we have them!” he exclaimed, and as he spoke he

loosened his sword in its sheath, looked to the priming of his pistols,

and there was a joyous, exulting expression in his countenance which

gave confidence to all the party.

The time for concealment was past, for the Georgian was now within an

arrow’s shot of the Sammalous. The latter had gathered their captured

animals in the rear, and were preparing to resist the onset of the enemy

in front, when shouts from the boys and servants in the rear caused them

to turn their heads. They saw Hassan and his little band approaching in

that direction. Escape was now impossible, and it only remained for them

to conquer or be captured with all their booty.

The number of combatants was nearly equal; the Sammalous had, perhaps,

eight or ten more than their opponents, besides a score of servants and

boys on foot, who had each a sword or lance. Twenty of the fighting men

of the Sammalous were quickly wheeled to the rear to oppose Hassan and

his twelve horsemen, who now came on in a gallop, and in better order

than might have been expected from their habitually irregular

discipline.

“Gently, gently, my men,” said Hassan, reining in Shèitan to a moderate

hand-gallop. “Keep your horses in breath till you are at close quarters,

then let them out. A gold sequin for the first empty saddle among the

Sammalous.” His men answered with a loud and cheerful shout, and in a

few minutes the conflict began.

As Hassan had expected, the Sammalous did not await his charge in a

body, but dispersed to the right and left, so as to reduce the fight

rather to a succession of single combats. They fought well and bravely,

nevertheless they were unable to contend with the impetuous force with

which Hassan directed the attack of his small party; in fact, his

appearance and his deeds contributed to strike a panic into them. His

large and powerful figure, the joyous and exulting shouts that he raised

as man after man fell under the sweep of his sword, together with the

wonderful dexterity with which he guided and wheeled his strong and

fiery horse amidst and around them, contributed to throw them into

amazement and consternation.

The Georgian on his side was not idle, and it was soon evident to the

leader of the Sammalous that all hopes of saving their booty must be

abandoned: many of his men were killed, many wounded, when he

reluctantly shouted aloud to the remainder words that may best be

rendered by the French “Sauve qui peut!” Mounted on Nebleh, the chief

had shot about the field like a meteor—now here, now there, darting and

wheeling in every direction. Nebleh seemed to be unapproachable in her

matchless speed and activity. Never had that gallant mare and her no

less gallant rider better deserved the high reputation they had acquired

than on this day so fatal to his tribe. One of the Turkish horsemen he

had transfixed with his lance, and had grievously wounded two more; but

now destiny had decided against him, and with a sigh he turned to fly

from the luckless field.

Hassan had been so much occupied in the _mêlée_ that he had not had time

to seek out the Sammalous leader, and accident had not brought them

together; but when the latter shouted to his men to fly, and turned

Nebleh’s head to the desert, Hassan struck his stirrups into Shèitan’s

flanks and darted forth in pursuit, and now commenced a race for victory

on one side, for life on the other.

The Sammalous had a start of nearly fifty yards, which Shèitan’s first

furious bound had reduced to thirty. For nearly half a mile the speed of

the horses seemed equal, but even in the heat of that exciting moment

Hassan had the presence of mind to reflect that Shèitan’s strength and

speed had been severely tried by a long gallop on the other side of the

hill, and also that his own weight was one-third greater than that of

the light and sinewy form of the Sammalous chief, hence he rightly

judged that in a long race he must be the loser. Both had hitherto kept

their horses somewhat within their speed preparatory to a trial of

endurance.

Hassan now resolved to call upon Shèitan for one great effort, and if

that failed, to give up the pursuit. Once more he slackened the rein and

struck the sharp stirrup into the flanks of Shèitan. The high-bred

horse, responsive to the touch, bounded forward with an impetuosity that

brought him within a few yards of Nebleh’s flank. At this crisis the

Sammalous chief drew a pistol from his girdle, and, turning round in his

saddle, fired at his pursuer with so true an aim that the ball passed

through Hassan’s clothes and grazed his ribs, inflicting a slight flesh

wound in its passage.

With a motion almost simultaneous Hassan drew out one of his pistols and

aimed it full at the back of his enemy. The ball took effect between the

unfortunate man’s shoulders and passed through his lungs. After reeling

for a few minutes in the saddle, he fell heavily to the ground, his hand

still grasping Nebleh’s bridle. The intelligent and faithful animal

stood by the side of her dying master, putting her nose down towards his

face as if inquiring what ailed him and why he stopped. Hassan

dismounted, and leaving his panting steed at a little distance,

approached the spot. The Sammalous chief was no more.

Hassan remained for a few minutes silently contemplating the body. A

smile of satisfaction passed over his countenance as he reflected how

well he had avenged the wrongs of his foster-father, but it quickly

passed away as he said gravely, “He was a brave horseman, but his time

was come—destiny had written it—Allah have mercy on his soul!” He then

commenced an examination of the dead man’s clothes, and found, as he had

expected, in the shawl around his waist several small bags of money

which the deceased had plundered from the villages whence he had taken

the horses. Securing these in his own belt, he proceeded to lead away

Nebleh, who was apparently bewildered by the death of her master, and

accompanied him with the gentleness of a lamb.

Two or three of his men, who had followed the headlong chase as fast as

their wearied horses could carry them, now drew near. Intrusting Nebleh

to them, he slowly returned to the scene of the affray.

Hassan and the Georgian, after congratulating each other on the success

of their expedition, began to examine into its results. Of their own

party four were killed and ten wounded; of the Sammalous nine were

killed and thirty made prisoners, of whom seventeen or eighteen were

wounded. Several bags of money had been found besides those in the

possession of Hassan, and forty mares and foals carried away from the

villages, besides twenty-five horses belonging to the Sammalous

themselves. These items, added to a goodly collection of swords,

pistols, and other accoutrements, made up a very respectable prize to

lay at the feet of the Kiahia.

The solitary Arab whom Hassan had thrown from his horse and had left

bound had wandered from his party to drink at a neighbouring well,

whither, being at no great distance from the scene of the affray, Hassan

and the Georgian now determined to proceed, there to pass the night, the

state of the wounded rendering it impossible to carry them back direct

to the Pyramids. To the well, therefore, they bent their course, the

wounded being placed and supported on the quietest horses. They found

the prisoner bound in the spot where he had been left, and he was not a

little surprised to see his comrades and all their booty captured like

himself. He bore it, however, with the resigned indifference common to

oriental fatalists.

Having arrived at the well, arrangements were made for the night

encampment. The prisoners were all placed, disarmed, in a body, with a

strong guard over them, and they were told that any attempt at escape

would be punished by instant death. The horses were picketed, and Hassan

intrusted Nebleh to his own groom, with orders to sleep close to her,

and with one eye open: over these a guard was set, which was relieved

every two or three hours, Hassan and the Georgian agreeing to watch each

one-half of the night. The barley and bread captured from the Sammalous

was more than ample for the wants of the party, and half-a-dozen torn-up

shirts supplied the bandages necessary for the wounded.

The night passed without incident or interruption, and the following day

they pursued their course leisurely to the Pyramids, where their arrival

with their captives and booty created no little sensation. After

consulting with Hassan the Georgian sent off a fresh horseman with a

letter to the Kiahia, informing him of the result of the expedition, and

requesting that one or two surgeons might be sent to attend the wounded

of both parties: he also desired to know the Pasha’s pleasure whether he

should convey the prisoners and recaptured booty into Cairo, or to the

divan of the Governor of the province at Ghizeh.

The generous Georgian did not tell Hassan that in his account of the

affray he had given the whole credit of its success to our hero, both

from his having laid and carried out the plan, and crowned it by killing

the Sammalous chief with his own hand.

Those who have lived or travelled in the East will exclaim, “This is

unnatural; no Oriental was ever capable of so unselfish a trait.” Rare

fruit in that clime we admit it to be, nevertheless the exception does

not disprove the rule. However contrary it may appear to general

experience, truth, modesty, and unselfishness _may_ be found in the

East—that is, among the Arabs, Turks, and those brought up with them. He

that would seek such fruit farther East—that is, in Persia—had better

settle his affairs before he starts, and be prepared for a journey of

indefinite duration and worse than doubtful result.

Having despatched the messenger, and sent another to the villages which

had been plundered by the Sammalous to desire their sheiks to come on

the following morning to identify and claim their lost property, Hassan

and the Georgian proceeded without delay to render such assistance as

lay in their power to their wounded comrades: in this work of humanity

they found an efficient coadjutor in Müller. For most of the wounds,

after cleaning them, cold bandages were his panacea, and these he

applied with remarkable skill and expedition. In two instances he had to

employ probe and forceps for the extraction of a pistol-ball: in these

he was equally successful, and he plied his hands and instruments with

much knowledge.

Hassan, as soon as he could leave the wounded, was summoned to Mr

Thorpe’s tent to give an account of the expedition and the affray, which

he did with his accustomed modesty, passing lightly over his own share

in them, and praising the gallantry of the Georgian and his comrades.

But when he came to relate the chase, and what might be termed his

flying duel with the Sammalous chief, his eye sparkled, and he told his

tale with a force and vigour that produced the liveliest interest and

excitement in his auditors. Emily gazed on the speaker in silence, and

when he had concluded his narrative Mr Thorpe said—

“Hassan, you mentioned that the chief’s bullet grazed your side: in

attending to the wounds of others, have you seen to your own?”

“Mine is a mere scratch; I have not even looked at it,” he replied.

“The very words you used before,” said Mr Thorpe, shaking his head,

“when you had a ball in your shoulder which threatened to cripple you

for life. I insist upon it that you allow Müller to examine it.”

“To please you, and to show you that I am grateful for the interest you

take in me, I will do so,” said Hassan, rising, and he went with Müller

into the adjoining tent. On examination the latter found that our hero,

though not seriously injured, had very narrowly escaped. The ball had,

as he termed it, grazed his side: the application of some lint and a

plaster was all that Müller thought necessary. He returned to give his

report to the Thorpes, while Hassan went to sup with his friend the

Georgian, who had already invited the doctor to join them.

On the following morning at daybreak the messenger returned, bringing an

answer from the Kiahia to the effect that Hassan and the Georgian,

together with those who had accompanied them, were to convey the

prisoners, horses, and other booty to the Governor’s divan at Ghizeh,

where the Kiahia proposed himself to attend and to superintend the

proceedings. The village sheiks having arrived, the party set forth to

Ghizeh, and on arriving, Hassan was surprised and pleased to find there

his chief, Delì Pasha, in attendance on the Kiahia. The hearty old Pasha

welcomed Hassan with a smile, saying—

“Welcome, my son; you have done well, and have made my eyes glad.”

The Kiahia then sat down in the centre, with Delì Pasha on one side and

the Governor on the other, Hassan and the Georgian standing near their

respective chiefs. The proceedings commenced by an inquiry into the

amount claimed by the several sheiks as having been stolen from their

villages.

It were an endless task to relate the falsehoods and exaggerations

uttered by each of these worthies as to the losses they had sustained:

certain it is that five times the amount of money recovered would not

have satisfied their claims. Hassan and the Georgian laid before the

Kiahia the bags which they had found on the persons of the Sammalous, as

well as the prisoners and the dead. Some of them were distinguishable by

marks and seals: these were restored to their owners, and the others

distributed according to the best judgment of the Kiahia. Still the

claimants were dissatisfied, and one old sheik said—

“Would it not be well if your Excellency ordered these two young

Mamelukes and their soldiers to be searched?—perhaps they have secreted

some of the money.”

Hassan and the Georgian cast on the speaker looks of silent contempt,

but the impetuous Delì roared out, “By my life, thou son of a dog, thou

deservest to have thy white beard rubbed in the kennel! Dost thou think

that these brave youths would risk their lives to recover your dirty

piastres and then steal a portion of them? and if they had been thieves

like thyself, dost thou think, thou father of asses, that they would

have brought those piastres with them to this divan?”

The abashed sheik held his peace, and soon afterwards slunk out of the

court.

The mares and foals claimed by the villagers were next distributed, and

with less confusion and contention than the money, being more easily

identified. This ceremony over, the Kiahia Pasha said—

“As the goods of the villagers have now been restored, the persons and

property of the Sammalous thieves are at the disposal of the

Government—the prisoners are condemned to three years’ imprisonment.

Kawàsses, take charge of them, and remove them to Cairo. Now, Hassan and

Reschid” (addressing the Georgian), “stand forth.” The young men obeyed.

“Hassan,” continued the Kiahia, “the mare of the Sammalous chief whom

you killed is yours. There are twenty-five horses, with arms and

accoutrements, belonging to the Sammalous: of these fifteen are for you,

as you took the principal lead in the expedition; the remaining ten are

for Reschid.”

“My lord,” said Hassan hastily, interrupting the Kiahia, “pardon my

freedom of speech. It is not just that I should take one horse more than

Reschid: he is my senior, and he commanded your Excellency’s men; he

fought and risked his life as I did. Whatever lead I had in the

expedition was owing to his modesty and friendship: as we divided the

duty equally, I beg your Excellency to divide the horses equally.”

The Kiahia smiled aside to Delì Pasha and replied, “Wallàhi! Hassan,

your sentiment is friendly and good, but it is out of my power to comply

with your wish. There are twenty-five horses; how can I divide them

equally?”

“May your servant speak freely?” inquired Hassan. On receiving an

approving sign from the Kiahia he continued, “Four of the brave soldiers

who fought with us fell in the affray; they will have left behind them

perhaps poor parents, perhaps poor families. I would beg your Excellency

to give me eight of the horses, the same number to Reschid, and to allow

the remainder to be sold in the horse-market and the money to be given

to those poor families.”

“Mashallah!” said the Kiahia, “you have spoken kindly and wisely; it

shall be done as you wish. Do you and Reschid take all the horses,

choose each your eight, sell the remainder yourselves, and give the

amount to the families of those on whom Allah has had mercy.”[74]

Hassan bowed, and was about to retire when the Kiahia again called him

and Reschid before him, saying to them, “You have both done well, and

the Viceroy is pleased that those who do good service should be

rewarded; my _khaznadâr_ has orders to pay you each five purses [£25] on

leaving this presence.”

The young men answered with the customary “May your years and honours be

abundant,” and withdrew. Hassan having received permission to send his

mare and his eight horses into Delì Pasha’s stable, went back with

Reschid to the Pyramids in order to take leave of his English friends,

while the Kiahia and Delì Pasha returned to Cairo.

Our hero and Reschid, whose liking for each other had already ripened

into a warm attachment, rode side by side, conversing on many topics,

when the former suddenly said to his companion, “Reschid, I know not how

you may feel, but I do not like being paid in money for doing our duty

in scattering, capturing, and killing those thieves of Sammalous, and

methinks it were a more fitting reward for those soldiers who shared our

danger and who have got nothing. What think you if we were to divide

among them these purses which have been given to us, and allow some

additional share to the wounded?”

Reschid eagerly embraced and seconded the proposal, saying, “You are

right, Hassan; we have all that we need under the shadow of our Pashas.

The money will be better bestowed among these fellows, whose trade it is

to take hard blows for money.”

The idea was no sooner conceived than it was put in execution. Halting

under a clump of palm-trees, they called up the men, and after a few

words of encouragement and praise for their good conduct, divided among

them all that they had received, reserving, as they had proposed, a

somewhat larger share for the wounded. As they again rode forward

towards the Pyramids, one of the horsemen said to his fellows—

“If our Pasha would give us leaders like that young Hassan, we would

follow them to the last drop of our blood. How unlike he is to our

captain, whose hands are idle in the fight, and busy only in gripping

the money.”

Hassan was very anxious to learn something of his new friend’s origin

and early history; but the latter was not able to satisfy his curiosity,

answering with a smile to his inquiries, “Our fates seem somewhat

similar. You tell me that you are a foundling and know not your parents.

I am much in the same case; for I was brought over here from Stamboul,

in company with two of my sisters, when I was four or five years of age:

the elder was betrothed and married; the younger was destined for some

great harem, but she fell in love, married secretly—I know not

whom—escaped, and has never since been heard of. As I never could learn

the name of her husband, I have not been able to trace her.”

“As our fates are alike, so let our hearts be alike,” said Hassan

cordially; “and may Allah some day reunite us both to those whom we have

lost.”

“So may it be! You are not a woman, and not very like one either,”

replied Reschid, casting his eyes on the athletic proportions of his

companion, “and yet my heart leaned towards you from the first moment I

saw you. Inshallah! now we are friends, we will see each other much and

often.”

“I should be truly glad,” answered Hassan; “but our intercourse will be

soon interrupted, for Delì Pasha goes shortly to Siout as Governor, and

I am to accompany him.”

“You will not remain there long,” said Reschid, “neither you nor your

chief. Mohammed Ali likes him and his blunt ways. You will see that he

will not leave him long at Siout.”

Thus conversing, the friends arrived at the Pyramids, where the report

of their generosity to the soldiers and the wounded was soon spread over

the whole encampment.

On the morning succeeding these events, Hassan, after taking leave of

the Thorpe party, and recommending them to the care of his friend

Reschid, returned to Delì Pasha’s palace on the banks of the river,

where he was cordially welcomed by his chief and by Ahmed Aga. The fame

of his exploits, if so they may be termed, had already spread over the

whole house, and indeed had been painted in glowing colours by the old

chief himself to his daughter.

No greeting of all those which met him on his return pleased him more

than that of the little dumb Murad, who looked up into his protector’s

face with eyes that scarcely required the aid of the tongue’s

interpretation, as his nimble fingers signed the words, “Allah give you

a long and prosperous life—I have heard all, and oh! I am so happy.”

Hassan patted the head of his young _protégé_ and inquired what he had

been doing during the last few days. The little boy had much to tell,

and it required all Hassan’s attention to follow and understand the

language of those fingers, whose rapidity of motion almost confused his

sight. Murad had taken many messages, and got into high favour with old

Mansour, who knew that he was himself the unintentional cause of the

hurt which the dumb boy had received. Finding him very faithful and

intelligent in the execution of commissions, Mansour had sent him

frequently to the city to bring trifles and samples for the ladies of

the harem, and had even conducted him to the ladies themselves, his age

not rendering that step objectionable.[75] He had taken some silks to

Zeinab Khanum, and some otto of roses[76] to Ayesha Khanum (probably the

two wives of the Pasha); also some beads and turquoises to the lovely

Amina Khanum.

“To whom?” cried Hassan, grasping the little boy’s arm with a grip which

almost paralysed it.

“To the lovely Amina Khanum,” repeated Murad, astonished at Hassan’s

outbreak. “And is she not beautiful as a houri?”

“And did you speak with her?” said Hassan, releasing the boy’s arm and

striving to master his emotion.

“In truth I did,” he replied, “and she spoke to me kindly, and pitied my

want of speech, and said she could almost weep for me.”

“Allah! Allah! would that I were twelve years old and dumb,” ejaculated

Hassan.

“What said you?” inquired Murad, looking up into his face with

astonishment.

“Nothing—nothing, boy; go on and tell me what passed with Am——, with the

lady you were speaking of.”

“She patted me on the cheek, and made me tell her what happened on the

day that you saved Mansour from the soldiers. She asked me whether you

had been kind to me, and what could I say of my protector but that you

had been to me more than a father or a brother? She wished to know where

you were gone, and whether there would be bloodshed, and when you were

coming back. I wrote all my answers on slips of paper (for I have taught

my finger-talk to none but you), and while she was reading them her

breath was quick, and her colour changed, and she was so agitated—by

Allah! just as you are now, Hassan. What has happened?” added Murad

timidly; “have I said anything to offend you?”

Much of what had fallen from Murad was music to Hassan’s ear and balm to

his heart; yet a sort of dread came over him when he reflected how he

had betrayed his feelings, and she hers, to a child, and one whose

vocation it was to go from house to house with messages and commissions!

Looking steadily into Murad’s eyes, he said, “Were you alone with the

lady when this passed?”

“I was,” he replied, “for some time: two of the slave-girls were

occupied at the other end of the room, but they were too far to hear

what the lady said to me, and you know, Hassan, they could not hear what

I said to her.”

This reply somewhat reassured Hassan, while its closing words moved his

compassion. Fixing his eyes earnestly, yet kindly, on the boy’s

countenance, he said to him, “Murad, do you love me?”

“Better than my life,” replied Murad, eagerly seizing his protector’s

hand and pressing it to his lips. “Whom should I love, if I love not

you? I have none on earth to care for, none to love, if it be not

Hassan.”

“Then I charge you by that love,” said Hassan solemnly, “never to

communicate what you have told me to any human being—not even to

Mansour. Were you to do so,” he added, with a stern expression, “much as

I pity and love you, Murad, I would rend your limbs asunder and give

them to the vultures.”

Although hurt and surprised by the unwonted tone of his protectors

language, Murad looked up in his face with a calm, untroubled

countenance, and using his little fingers with slowness and precision,

he said, “Kill me now if you doubt me! I am not noble nor honourable in

birth, but I have a heart. Has Hassan forgotten our proverb, ‘The good

man’s breast is the secret’s tomb’?”[77]

“Enough,” replied Hassan, in the usual tone of kindness in which he

addressed his young _protégé_. “I will trust you, and did wrong to doubt

your truth. If you are again called to the Lady Amina, serve her and

obey her faithfully in all things, but never communicate to any living

creature what she may say or ask about me. You are too young to

understand the dangers, the intrigues, and calumnies of a harem—only

remember that one unguarded expression from you might be the cause of

misery and shame worse than death to her.”

Hassan, having received a message from Delì Pasha, dismissed his little

_protégé_ and presented himself before his chief, who began talking to

him on the subject of his expedition against the Sammalous, and in the

course of conversation asked him what he proposed doing with the eight

horses taken from them, to which Hassan replied that it was his wish to

send them as a present to his foster-father among the Oulâd-Ali.

“That is well,” said the Pasha, smiling; “youth should repay the bread

of infancy. But what mean you to do with the beautiful mare Nebleh?”

Hassan thought for a moment, and then replied, “She is, indeed,

beautiful and swift beyond any horse that I have seen; but she is small

and light—too much so to bear me either after an enemy or an antelope,

too much so even to bear your Excellency with freedom.” Here Hassan cast

his eyes on the large and vigorous, though somewhat corpulent,

proportions of his chief. “I was thinking that it would be well if your

Excellency were to make her a present from yourself to Mohammed Ali, for

it does not become one in my rank to make him such an offering. His

Highness is small and light in person; nor do I believe that he has a

mare like Nebleh in his stable.”

“Wallàhi! you say well,” replied Delì Pasha. “Nebleh would fly under

him; it shall be as you wish. But as she is your property, if I present

her from myself I must buy her from you. How many purses shall I give

you for her?”

“Under your Excellency’s favour I have no need of money,” replied

Hassan, with an abstracted, melancholy air that struck the Pasha. “Some

day I may have a favour to ask of you; then, if you choose, you may pay

me for Nebleh.”

“As you will,” answered Delì Pasha. “I will write a letter to his

Highness, which you shall deliver yourself with the mare; he is coming

to Shubrah[78] in a day or two. Now,” continued the Pasha, “you must go

to your office, for the _nazir_ [steward] of my village in Karioonbiah

has been here with the year’s account—you know how I hate accounts—so I

told him to wait your return. Look through his accounts, receive his

money, and send him back.”

Hassan had scarcely taken his seat in his office, and was beginning to

look among his papers for the last year’s accounts of the

above-mentioned village, when a servant announced to him the expected

_nazir_. On entering he made a profound and ceremonious salam to Hassan,

and remained standing until the latter desired him to be seated; and

when he obeyed this order, it was with a feigned reluctance that he

placed himself in the attitude of most respectful humility by sitting on

his heels, carefully covering them with the edge of his robe and his

hands with its sleeve. Hassan, rather surprised at this overstrained

humility, bestowed upon the _nazir_ a scrutinising glance, the result of

which did not predispose our hero in favour of his visitor.

While the usual pipe and coffee were being offered and discussed a few

indifferent and customary phrases were exchanged, and Hassan had more

opportunity for studying the countenance of the _nazir_. It offered one

difficulty to his scrutiny, as the eyes squinted so remarkably that he

could not tell when they were looking at him or when directed elsewhere.

Though not superstitious, Hassan was not free from the strong prejudice

entertained by all his countrymen against this unpleasant

peculiarity;[79] and he noted that in the _nazir_ it was accompanied by

a pinched nose, a narrow forehead, and a mouth round which a false,

sneering smile perpetually played. The servants having retired, the

new-comer began, after his own fashion, to take (as a sailor might say)

the soundings of Hassan’s character.

“A very pleasant office this, O Aga, upon which you have lately

entered.”

“Pleasant enough for those who prefer the pen and the carpet to the

lance and the desert,” replied Hassan.

“There is a time for all,” answered the _nazir_. “Your respected

predecessor found it so; he was fond of both; he and I were great

friends.” He laid much stress upon the last two words, which did not

raise him much in the estimation of Hassan, who had already discovered

among his papers not a few proofs of his predecessor’s dishonesty. While

assuming a careless air, he resolved to watch the man more narrowly.

“Doubtless,” he said, “those who serve the same chief should be friends

together.”

This observation, which was merely general, misled the _nazir_ into a

belief that he was understood and met half-way.

“What a good chief he is to serve,” said the _nazir_, with his sneering

smile. “Open hands and eyes closed, never looks into an account, that is

the kind of master I like.”

“Yes,” replied Hassan; “I believe he trusts a great deal to his agents

without looking after his own affairs.”

“Wallàhi! that he does,” said the _nazir_; “and as he has plenty, why

should not others also eat bread? Do you know,” he added, lowering his

voice, while his eyes, apparently directed towards the door, were fixed

upon Hassan—“do you know how much your predecessor had for his share out

of our village last year?”

“No, I know not,” replied our hero; “I have not looked through the

accounts.”

The _nazir_ smiled at his companion’s simplicity as he said, “Accounts,

indeed! Oh, they are all right and signed by me, while mine are signed

by the Sheik-el-Beled.[80] We must all three be friends, you understand.

The village is rated to pay Delì Pasha two hundred purses a-year

[£1000], but we easily raise a great deal more, and that we divide

amongst us for our trouble. Last year we got each of us fifty purses,

and, Inshallah! by your good fortune, we have as much this year.”

“You must explain more to me,” said Hassan, dissembling his indignation

under a semblance of simplicity. “I do not understand all the details of

your village affairs. I had understood that in the new measurement of

the lands which the Viceroy ordered to be made throughout Egypt a few

years ago, far heavier demands were made on the fellah than under the

old measurement: how comes it, then, that your village produces so much

more than is written against it in the books of the Defterdar?”[81]

“The land was then only half cultivated,” replied the _nazir_, “and was

rated at only three _ardebs_[82] the _feddan_ [acre]. Since then Delì

Pasha has spent much money on it in irrigation, and he is quite

satisfied that it produces, as you see in our books, five _ardebs_; but

we generally get seven out of it, and besides this there are many

methods which we employ for getting an honest penny here and there out

of the village. The recruiting time is our best harvest, for then all

those who do not wish a son or a brother to be taken must pay the sheik

well, and I have my eye always steadily fixed upon him to see that he

shares fairly with us.”

“Then,” replied Hassan, “it is clear that the signature or seal of the

sheik is necessary for all these papers, in case they should be suddenly

called for and examined. How do you propose to arrange them with me in

his absence?”

“He is on his way,” said the _nazir_, “and will be here to-night.

To-morrow morning we will come to you together, sign the papers, pay you

the money, take your receipt, and divide the little perquisite that we

take for our trouble.”

He accompanied these last words with what he meant to be a knowing wink,

but what was in fact a grimace so odious that Hassan could scarcely

resist the impulse, which had been gradually growing, to kick him out of

the room. But his resolution to seize and convict his accomplice the

sheik enabled him to master the impulse, so he contented himself with

saying—

“Well, bring him to-morrow morning and we will make it all right.”

“I will be here,” replied the _nazir_, who then rose and took his leave.

No sooner was he gone than Hassan’s indignation found vent in words

which, although not uncommon among the Arabs, are scarcely fit to be

translated for ears or eyes polite. As he was not aware what spies or

partisans the _nazir_ might have among the servants in the house, he

took no immediate step in reference to the late interview, but strolled

down to the stable and spent some time in directing the exertions of his

groom towards the rubbing and polishing the satin coats of Shèitan and

Nebleh, and beautiful they both were in their several styles—the one

above the ordinary size, fleet, proud, strong, and fierce in his bearing

to all but one; the other gentle, sagacious, unequalled in her speed as

in the fine and delicate proportions of her limbs. Still when any

stranger approached, she turned to look at him, as if expecting again to

see the form, again to hear the voice, of her Arab lord.

Hassan understood the gesture, and went up to caress her, saying,

“Faithful creature, thou shalt see him no more; his destined hour was

come, and you are separated. But you shall at least go where you will be

sheltered in all seasons, nurtured with all care, fed with all fresh

grasses and grains; thy sleek sides will be covered with velvet and

jewels, a gold-adorned bit in thy mouth, and on thy back will be a rider

like thyself—slight, indeed, and small in size, but unwearied in energy,

and of a spirit unquenched by danger and fatigue: wilt thou be happy,

Nebleh?”

While thus speaking, or rather half audibly murmuring, he stood with one

arm thrown over Nebleh’s neck and the other hand shading his own eyes,

as his thoughts unconsciously wandered to Amina, and might have been

embodied thus in words: “Were I lying on those sands where the Sammalous

chief’s bones now rest, would she start and turn at every approaching

step; and if afterwards they wedded her to wealth and splendour, and her

robes were studded with jewels, and gold and pearls were upon her neck,

would she be happy?”

Hassan was roused from his wayward and dreamy thoughts by the cheerful

voice of his friend Ahmed Aga, who had come to inspect the far-famed

Nebleh, and was surprised to find Hassan apparently asleep, though

standing on his feet and his arm over her neck. “Why, how is this, my

Antar?” he cried; “asleep, and with your arm on Nebleh’s mane.”

The sudden effort made by Hassan to recover his composure was not

entirely successful; besides, he was too natural to feign with his

friend a gaiety that he did not feel, so he replied—

“In truth, Ahmed, I was thinking of this poor animal’s former master,

the Sammalous: she looks in vain for his return, and pricks her ears at

every approaching footstep. Who knows what other loving hearts in the

tents are also waiting in vain for that returning footstep?”

“Wallàhi!” said Ahmed; “if thou hadst only one-half thy size, and

one-quarter of thy strength and courage, thou wouldst be a charming

girl, and methinks I could court thee myself, for thy heart is as tender

as that of Leilah herself. The Sammalous chief died like a brave robber,

as he was, and far happier was it for him than to be captured and taken

to Alexandria, and drag timber about the arsenal with two heavy chains

round his ankles. Come, be pleased to remove thy giantship from the side

of thy pet, that I may see her fair proportions.”

Hassan, relieved and restored to his wonted good-humour by the bantering

tone of his friend, complied with his request, and after they had stood

for some time commenting on the beauty and symmetry of the Arab, they

returned together towards the house. On the way Hassan, having first

ascertained that Ahmed was but slightly acquainted with the _nazir_,

told him all that had passed, and at the same time communicated to him

the plan that he had formed for the morrow.

“You may remember,” he said, “that in my office is a recess, covered

over with a curtain, behind which, unobserved by any of the servants, I

wish you to place yourself. There you will hear the rascality of these

two confessed by themselves, even if they have not signed or sealed

enough to convict them. At a signal from me you will come out; we will

then seize them and deliver them over to the Pasha, to be punished as he

sees fit.”

“With all my heart,” said Ahmed. “On my head be it; and, Inshallah! that

squinting rogue’s feet will get a lesson that will mend his morals.”

On the following morning Hassan’s plan was carried out with complete

success, and scarcely had Ahmed Aga ensconced himself in the curtained

recess of Hassan’s office than the _nazir_ entered, accompanied by the

Sheik-el-Beled. The latter was what would be usually termed in Egypt a

respectable-looking man, for one of his class; his turban and his dark

serge robe well became the gravity of his countenance, and it required a

close observation to detect the cunning that lurked in his small dark

eyes. The servants who brought the pipes and coffee having retired, the

_nazir_ entered into the business which had been discussed at the

interview of the preceding evening. He had not proceeded very far in his

discourse when Hassan, interrupting him, said—

“This is a serious affair; it will not do to have servants coming in

with messages until we have terminated it. I will lock the door.” While

he was doing so the _nazir_ said to the sheik in an undertone—

“The young greyhound takes well to the game; after he has tasted blood”

(here he rattled the money in his bag) “he will be keener yet.” A grim

smile, accompanied by “Inshallah!” was the sheik’s reply.

In order that the unseen auditor might hear the whole scheme of fraud

developed, Hassan now caused the _nazir_ to repeat what he had stated on

the preceding day, under pretext that he had not thoroughly understood

its details. Our hero also put from time to time a question to the

sheik, whose replies, brief though they were, proved him to be a

thorough participator in the villainy of his colleague, and rather led

Hassan to think him the deeper rogue of the two.

The discussion being closed, they now, as the _nazir_ said, “proceeded

to business”—_i.e._, to the signature of the falsified accounts—which

ceremony was accompanied by the delivery to Hassan of a bag containing

fifty purses (£250), which the _nazir_ drew from an inner pocket of his

ample vest. Hassan weighed the bag in his hand without untying it, then

placed it in a niche of the wall above his head.[83] The _nazir_ and the

sheik having attached their seals to duplicate copies of the accounts,

the latter were handed to Hassan to be certified by him in a similar

manner.

“Before doing so,” said he, “I will call another witness to my sealing.

Ahmed Aga, come forth.”

No sooner did the two accomplices see the _mirakhor_ emerge from the

curtain than they knew they were detected and lost. The falsified

accounts were in Hassan’s hand, and it flashed across the _nazir’s_ mind

that if he could recover and destroy them, proof might be difficult

where two would have to swear against two; and, quick as thought, he

threw himself on Hassan as the latter was rising from his sitting

posture to his feet. But Hassan had his right hand free, and the

unfortunate _nazir_ never knew what a right hand it was until he found

himself lying prostrate and bruised at the farthest end of the room.

Ahmed Aga burst into a fit of laughter.

“Mashallah!” he said, “a cheating, squinting, cut-purse dog like you to

lay your dirty hands on our Antar. Ha! ha! ha! Come,” he continued,

addressing the discomfited _nazir_, “give me up that sword, which you

are unworthy to wear, or we shall have you trying to stab some one in

the dark.”

Having received the fallen _nazir’s_ sword, he opened the door, and

calling aloud, ordered two servants to bring cords to tie the hands of

the two miscreants and conduct them to the presence of Delì Pasha,

whither they themselves at once proceeded, Hassan bearing with him the

bag of money and the falsified accounts.

Whilst Hassan was narrating to his chief the manner in which he had been

cheated by these scoundrels for years past, the Pasha’s brow was

clouded. The written proofs of their guilt having been laid before him,

and Ahmed Aga having testified to having heard from their own lips a

confirmation of Hassan’s statement, Delì Pasha called aloud to his

attendants to take the culprits into the court below and to give them

each 250 blows on the feet,—“and mind that they are well laid on,” he

added sternly. Then turning to the prisoners, he said, “You have owned

to having continued this robbery for some years: after your punishment

you will be shut up for a week, during which time you will find means to

refund each 100 purses, the avowed spoil of the last two years. If you

fail to do so, I hand you over to the Mehkemeh [the public tribunal],

where, as you know, the galleys will be your fate. Begone!”

In a few minutes the shrieks and cries of “Aman!” [Mercy!] that arose

from the court satisfied the Pasha that his orders were faithfully

executed, and he turned with a cleared brow to Hassan, whom he warmly

praised for his fidelity and intelligence, adding, “You have well

deserved that bag of fifty purses, and I would willingly give it you,

but I know, my brave lad, that the offer would offend you; if, however,

it would give you pleasure to wear an old soldier’s sword, that has

drunk no little Wahabee blood in its day, you are welcome to it. I know

it could not be in better or in braver hands.” As he said this he

unbuckled his sword and gave it to Hassan, who pressed the holy legend

on the blade[84] to his lips and forehead, saying, “May your honours

increase with your life, and may I never be unworthy of your favours.”

We must now transport the reader to the interior of a house, or rather a

palace, which stood, and indeed still stands, on the banks of the Nile,

about a quarter of a mile from the site of that which we have before

described as being occupied by Delì Pasha. This palace was larger and

better built than others in the neighbourhood; its foundations of solid

stone formed a kind of pier, capable of resisting and controlling the

waters of the Nile in their wildest mood, so that a person at one of the

windows facing the river might drop a stone into the flood below. At the

back of the palace was a large garden filled with orange, lemon, citron,

and pomegranate trees, and protected by a high wall; while the lateral

front of the building, on which side the windows were all closely

latticed, commanded a view of the streets and of the passengers coming

to and going from the port of Boulak.

In a private apartment of this palace, adjoining the _ka’ah_ or large

central saloon, sat a lady, apparently between thirty and thirty-five

years of age, the character of whose remarkable countenance was hard to

read and define. The features were not regular in detail, yet they were

not wanting in a certain beauty of harmony, and though they betrayed

strong passions, they denoted a still stronger will to command them. The

eye small, but full of fire; and though the stature was below the

average height, yet the form seemed imbued with command, and the

gestures, though imperious, were not devoid of grace.

Opposite this lady, whom we shall so far involve in mystery as to give

her no name but that of the Khanum, sate, or rather crouched, at a

respectful distance the figure of a little old woman, whose features

were a true index of her odious character. She was what is called in

Arabic a _dellaleh_ or saleswoman, a class who frequent oriental harems

for the ostensible purpose of selling to the inmates jewels, silks,

shawls, and toys of all descriptions, but are usually employed as the

medium of all love affairs or intrigues in which the imprisoned beauties

are or wish to be engaged.

“And is he then so very beautiful?” inquired the Khanum, with apparent

listlessness.

“My lady, I am told that he is indeed beautiful as Youssuf,[85] and

strong and valiant as Antar, nevertheless the down of manhood is newly

written on his lip.”

“Who may be your informant as to this wondrous youth?” said the Khanum,

in a tone in which curiosity was veiled under a semblance of

haughtiness.

“May it please you, my lady, it was Ferraj, the confidential servant of

Osman Bey, who has seen this youth called Hassan both in the street and

at the jereed play; and Ferraj is a man who has eyes—Mashallah! he is

not blind. I have before now served him in luring birds of beauty to his

master’s net, and——”

“Peace, woman,” said the lady sternly. “Think you that I care to hear

the intrigues of that ruffian Bey?” then dropping her voice to a lower

key, she added, “Well, I will see this youth—I think you called him

Hassan. When can you bring him hither?”

“It is not difficult, lady; to-morrow, if you will—unless he is absent

on duty. Ferraj says that though all are afraid of him if he is angry,

yet he is good-natured and simple as a child, and that if I only tell

him that some one is in danger or in trouble, he is sure to come at

once.”

“Well, be it for to-morrow,” said the lady impatiently; “only let me

know in time whether you have succeeded.”

“And if I do succeed,” said the crone, “and if he be as beautiful as I

have said, what will the generous lady bestow on her slave?”

“That,” replied the Khanum, pointing to a small European purse

ornamented with pearls which lay upon a stool of ebony inlaid with

mother of pearl beside her, and through the network of which a certain

number of gold coins were visible. “Go now, be silent and faithful, or

... you know me.”

“That do I,” muttered the crone between her teeth, as she made her salam

and left the room. “I know thee for the veriest dragon that ever wore

the form of woman.”

That same evening, when Hassan retired to his small sleeping-room, he

felt as happy, if not happier, than ever he had felt before: he had

rendered to his chief an important service, and had received from him a

sword of honour, a trusty blade of the finest Damascus temper, with

which he hoped to carve his way to honour, distinction, and Amina.

As the image of the latter rose to view in his imagination, an

irresistible impulse led him to close his door, mount the steps which he

withdrew from behind his bed, and look through the aperture at the

well-known window of his beloved. To his surprise and delight the

lattice was open, and he could distinctly see the lovely form and

features of Amina as she reposed upon a low ottoman; two candles in high

silver candlesticks were on the carpet beside her; no other figure was

visible, but Hassan knew that she was not alone, as he heard a voice

addressing her in a low tone, which he fancied (although he did not

catch a word) he recognised as that of Fatimeh Khanum.

In explanation of the open lattice, it must be remembered that Amina’s

apartments were high from the ground, and that on the side of the outer

palace on which they looked there was not a single window, save only the

aperture made by two displaced bricks, through which Hassan had already

drank so many deep draughts of love.

Now he could hear Amina’s sweet voice replying to her companion; but he

saw that a kerchief was applied to her eyes, and that she was weeping

bitterly. At the same time he thought—nay, he was sure—that he heard his

own name uttered by the other speaker. Abhorring even the thought of

eavesdropping, he came down from the steps and replaced them behind his

bed, on which he threw himself in an agony of conflicting emotion.

“Allah! Allah!” said the unhappy youth. “I have caused her tears to flow

for whose happiness I would sacrifice my life.” He then thought of the

words of Fatimeh Khanum—of the high destinies reserved for Amina—of his

own unknown birth and humble fortune; thence his thoughts passed to the

kindness and trusting confidence shown to him by her father. “And shall

it be said that I, Hassan, rewarded him by trying to steal the

affections of his only daughter, the prop and pride of his old age. Why

did I see her lovely face—why did I hear her sweet voice—why did I

respond to her song? Allah! Allah! I have done very wrong—I have been

blinded, bewitched, deprived of my reason. Ye cursed steps, ye have

brought me to this evil.” So saying, he rose in haste, and after

ascertaining that there was no one in the passage, he carried out the

steps and replaced them in the same corner whence he had first removed

them.

More than half the night he spent in framing resolutions to tear the

image of Amina out of his breast, or if this proved impossible, as his

heart whispered to him it would be, at least to bury it within him, and

permit no temptation to induce him to seek a return of his ill-starred

passion. “Inshallah! I will never cause her to shed another tear, unless

some bullet or lance removes me from the earth, and she drops one on my

grave.” With these resolutions Hassan fell asleep and dreamt of Amina.

The Easterns have a proverbial saying, that Fortune when serving Vice

rides on an Arab horse, and when serving Virtue rides on a camel,—the

moral being that she is generally swift to aid the vicious in their

undertakings, whilst she is more slow, though more sure and steady, in

aiding those of the virtuous. In illustration whereof it fell out that

on the following morning Hassan rose early, and strolled in a musing

mood on the road which led along the bank of the river to Boulak: he did

not observe that he was followed by two persons at a little distance, an

old woman and a man. “That is he,” said the latter in a low voice to his

companion, and immediately withdrew.

Hassan walked slowly forward, and just as he came to a part of the road

where passengers were few and an unfrequented by-street led from it, he

felt his elbow lightly touched by some one from behind, and turning, he

saw a woman, respectably dressed and covered with a long black veil,

whom he knew at once from her round shoulders and stooping gait to be

advanced in years.

“What would you with me?” he inquired.

“I have a message for the private ear of Hassan,” she replied, “if he

will accompany me for a few paces up the street”; and without waiting a

reply she walked on before him.

The _dellaleh_, for she it was, felt that she required great caution and

tact in order to secure the acquiescence of Hassan in her demand; for

she had ascertained some particulars of his habits and character, whence

she inferred that if she abruptly proposed to him any affair of

gallantry he would turn on his heel and leave her. Having reached a

secluded part of the street, she stopped and said, “I have been asked by

a lady who is in trouble to see Hassan, and inquire whether he is

disposed to render her a service.”

“I do not understand or love mysteries,” replied Hassan frankly. “Who is

the lady, and what service does she require at my hands? Has she not

father, or brother, or sons, or friends, that she asks you to apply to a

stranger?”

“My son,” said the old woman, modulating her voice to its softest tones,

“know you not that in our country there are cases where ladies are

deprived by fate of all these supports which you name? Know you not our

proverb, ‘He is thy brother who befriends thee, not he who came forth

from thy mother’s womb’?”

“True, my mother,” said Hassan, smiling; “yet I would fain know what

service is required of me—is the lady oppressed, and has she need of my

sword?”

“I am not in the Khanum’s confidence,” replied the wily crone. “She has,

I suppose, heard of your courage and fidelity, and wishes to consult you

on some matter touching her honour or safety.”

“If that be so,” answered Hassan, “I am ready—lead on.”

“Not now,” she replied, “spies are about; and you yourself know that it

would be impossible to admit you to the door of the harem in the

daytime. Meet me this evening at sunset under the large sycomore by the

river on the road to Boulak, and I will conduct you to the house.”

“I will be there,” answered Hassan; and the crone left him to make

report of her success to her employer.

“I have half a mind not to do it,” she muttered, as she went. “So young,

so handsome, so unsuspicious; and after a few days’ revelling in wine

and luxury, to be consigned to the cord or the deep well.” A shudder

passed over her frame; but the tempter was at hand—if aught so foul and

hardened as she could be said to require a tempter—the purse of gold

flitted before her eyes, and she pursued her course to the side-door of

her patroness’s house. Admitted at once to the presence of the latter,

she reported the success of her mission, adding, “He will be here just

after sunset.”

“Is he then so well-favoured as he had been described?” inquired the

Khanum.

“Mashallah! you shall see with your own eyes, lady; my words are weak to

describe what you will see.”

“It is well,” said the Khanum. “Go; I shall expect him at the hour.”

“What strange folly have I now committed,” said Hassan to himself, “in

offering to assist this unknown person, and risking my neck within the

walls of a harem? However, I have promised, and they shall not say that

I held back from fear.” So saying, he secured his dagger within his sash

under his inner jacket, buckled on his old sword, leaving the splendid

jewel-hilted present of Delì Pasha in his room, and sallied forth to the

place of appointment enveloped in a dark-coloured _aba_ or cloak. He

found the old woman under the tree, and followed her through several

streets without exchanging a word, until they reached the postern door

before mentioned, at which she tapped three times: it was opened

immediately by a Berber _bowàb_, or porter, beside whom stood two Nubian

eunuchs of large stature.

“Follow your conductor,” whispered the crone to Hassan; “my task is

done.” And so saying, she withdrew from the door, which was closed and

bolted.

Fear was a sensation as foreign to the heart of Hassan as to that of any

man who ever walked on earth, but the closing of the bolts behind him,

and the grim smile which he observed on the faces of the swarthy

eunuchs, made him for a moment repent of having embarked in this

mysterious enterprise; but recovering himself immediately, and placing a

hand on the hilt of his dagger, he followed his guides in silence. They

led him through several winding passages, and at last to a curtained

door which opened on the larger room before described as the saloon of

the palace, and, making him a sign to enter, retired. Four large candles

in silver stands of unusual height lighted up the farther part of the

saloon, by the side of which stood several trays loaded with the finest

fruits and rarest sweetmeats, while on another were ranged rows of

sherbet-bottles of various hues, and others that might contain the

forbidden juices of the grape: all these things Hassan noted with a

rapid glance, and also that for the present he was the sole occupant of

the splendid apartment.

“If the lady be mistress of all this wealth and luxury,” said Hassan

half aloud, “how strange that she should need aid or service from one so

humble as myself.” He then walked forward over the soft and silent

carpets towards the lights, and with the curiosity of youth began to

examine the fruits, which surpassed in beauty all that he had seen, and

wondered how such could be collected and procured in the end of

November.

Hassan was not aware that while the lofty saloon in which he stood

reached to the roof of the palace, there were adjoining rooms of half

the height, and that through the beautifully painted lattice-work which

ornamented the sides of the saloon there was a woman sitting in one of

those dark rooms above, who, invisible herself, could see every feature

of his countenance as he stood in the full glare of the wax-lights.

“Wallàhi!” as a dark fire flashed from her eyes, “for once that old

daughter of Shèitan has not lied. None so handsome have I seen in this

land; who, whence can he be? Bakkalum” (we shall see). So saying she

left the room, ordering the eunuch who stood without to give her the

key. The corresponding rooms, she knew, were closed and the keys she

held. This strange woman trusted none of her women slaves—they were all

sent to another part of the house; the only confidants of her wickedness

being four powerful black eunuchs and the porter of the postern door.

Meanwhile Hassan began to weary of his splendid solitude, and finding

his head almost giddy from the aromatic odours which rose from a censer

burning in the room, he threw open the large latticed casement, which,

from the sound of the rushing waters, he judged to look out upon the

Nile. A young moon was rising, and not a boat was visible: the thought

of the grim eunuch below flashed on his recollection, and as he gazed

from the window on the turbid stream boiling below at a distance of

thirty feet, a smile passed over his face. Retiring from the casement,

he found himself suddenly standing before one whom he felt to be the

lady of the palace.

Her appearance has been described, and she had not neglected to

embellish it by all the resources of art. Her dress was tasteful rather

than splendid, and only one or two jewels of price betokened the rank

and wealth of the wearer; her hands were small and graceful, to which

point a single brilliant of the purest water attracted the eye; and the

natural fire of her dark eyes was now heightened as much by the passion

which burnt within them as by the kohl,[86] which had shed a darker hue

on their lids and on the arching brows above.

“Pardon me, lady,” said Hassan, “if I have done wrong in opening the

casement; my head is not accustomed to these odours of aloes and

frankincense, and I admitted the air of heaven. If you fear the cold I

will close it.”

“I have no fear of cold,” she replied, as a ray shot from those piercing

eyes; “let it remain open. But come and sit down on this divan; I have

much to say to you in confidence. We can dispense with servants here;

the fruits and sherbets will not spoil our conversation.”

Hassan did as he was desired, wondering not a little at the unrestrained

language and manners of the Khanum, who had allowed her veil to fall

from her head; but he observed that, from the height of the sill of the

open casement and of the floor of the room itself, nothing of its

interior, save the ceiling, could be seen from the river.

The Khanum, with all her vices, was a woman of shrewd and sagacious

intellect, and when she was in the mood few of her sex in the East could

be more agreeable and prepossessing. She now employed all her powers to

please her young and inexperienced companion, not omitting the artillery

of her dark eyes. She observed, however, with secret spite, that the

latter fell harmless on the impenetrable armour of Hassan’s inexperience

or insensibility. When at length, after something that she had said

about love, conjoined with money, pleasure, luxury, &c., Hassan

understood her meaning, he replied with a cold and constrained air—

“Lady, we have been mistaken in each other. I came here believing that

you were in trouble, and requiring such aid as an honourable man might

give you with sword or counsel; and you brought me here thinking that I

was a minion or a toy that might be bought with gold, and afterwards

cast away like a worn-out dress.”

“Wallah! it is not so, Hassan. Whatever I have been or done before, I

love you truly; and if you will only give me your love, all my time and

wealth and power shall be spent in making you happy.”

“Lady,” replied Hassan with frank simplicity, “I will not mislead or

deceive you. A man cannot give what is not his; I have only one heart,

and it is given away. The gold in the Viceroy’s treasury could not

repurchase it.”

“Then you refuse and scorn my love,” she said, with kindling fire in her

eyes. “Beware how you awaken my hate; none have ever done so and lived

to tell it. I have means at hand for breaking your proud spirit. There

are dungeons below which never see the light of day; a few weeks or

months passed in them, with only black bread to feed on, will perhaps

bring you to another frame of mind.”

“Khanum,” he cried, springing to his feet, “I replied to your offered

favours with frankness and with courtesy,—your threats I despise.”

“Despise!” she cried, no longer mistress of her rage; “and this to me!”

As she spoke she clapped her hands loudly together; one of the eunuchs

appeared. “The man and the cord,” she said. The slave retired.

“Lady,” said Hassan, drawing his sword, “methinks you are scarcely

prudent to trust yourself so completely in the power of one whom you

threaten with the cord and the dungeon: before your slaves appear I

could sever your head from your body. But I have said it—I pity and

despise you.”

Her eye quailed beneath his stern glance; but at that moment the four

black slaves, armed with swords, and one of them bearing a strong cord,

entered the room.

“Seize and bind this villain,” she cried, “who has threatened and

insulted me.”

“Lady,” said Hassan in a low, determined tone, “you are mad. I could

shout so loudly from this open window that neighbours and passengers

would know what was passing in your harem. I must, if you force me to

it, shed in your presence the blood of your slaves; but I would fain

spare you. Think again, and let me depart in peace.”

Her only reply, as she arose and stamped her foot on the ground, was,

“Seize him and bind him, ye cowardly slaves.”

“Must it be so?” said Hassan, grasping his dagger in his left hand and

his sword in his right, while his eyes shone with that fierce fire which

always animated them in the fight. “Come on, ye wretched slaves, and try

your destiny!”

As he spoke these words, and, drawing up his towering form to its full

height, placed himself in a posture of defence, the Khanum cast upon him

a look in which love, admiration, and hate were strangely blended; but

still she stamped her angry foot and ordered the slaves to do her

bidding.

The negroes rolled their great eyes from their mistress to the powerful

and well-armed youth before them, as if the job was not much to their

liking; but their fear of the terrible and relentless Khanum prevailing,

the boldest and strongest of the party advanced, whispering to his

companion with the rope, “I will engage his sword in front, while you

approach on one side and throw the cord over him”; and in this order

they came forward, the two other slaves, with drawn swords, following

close behind their leader.

Hassan saw their manœuvre at a glance, and before they could put it in

execution he sprang like a tiger on the foremost, and guarding the cut

which the other made at his head, he dashed the horny knob of his

sword-hilt with such terrific force on his forehead that, after reeling

backward several paces, he fell senseless at the feet of his advancing

comrades. At the same instant, quick as lightning, he turned on the

negro who had nearly reached his side with the cord, and with one cut

laid open his right arm to the bone, the rope falling harmless on the

carpet. Uttering a yell of pain, the negro sprang backward to the side

of the two who had not yet ventured within reach of Hassan’s sword, and

whose livid lips revealed their terror of an antagonist who in a few

seconds had disabled the two strongest of their party.

“Come on! come on!” said Hassan, with a scornful laugh. “This game is

more to my taste than the Khanum’s sweetmeats and frankincense.” But the

men, instead of moving, cast their uncertain eyes on their disabled

companions, and fear seemed to root them to the spot.

“Lady,” said Hassan in a stern voice, “there is no honour to be gained

by me in wounding or killing coward slaves like these; once more I warn

you bid them retire, and spare me the trouble of defiling your fair

carpets with their blood.”

The Khanum looked at her disabled and trembling slaves, and from them to

the bright, proud eye and commanding form of the young man; her spirit

failed her, and her pride quailed beneath his glance.

“Retire,” she said, “and carry out that body, be it alive or dead.” The

men obeyed, and the Khanum turning to Hassan, said in a trembling voice,

“You have subdued one who was never conquered before. What is your

purpose now—do you intend to kill me?”

Hassan, from whose brow the expression of anger had not yet passed away,

looked at her in silence for a minute before he replied—

“Khanum, do I look like one who could strike a woman? It is punishment

severe enough for you that I leave you alone with your own bitter

thoughts. I know you, lady—yes, I know your name and rank, and others

say what you have yourself avowed, that of those who have offended you

none have ever lived to tell it. But I warn you that, if you pursue me

with your hate and commission others to try and take my life, I will

cleave their skulls with this good sword, and will report to the Viceroy

what goes on in this house. If you choose that for the future there

shall be peace between us, we will both forget this evening, and your

secret is as safe with me as if I were dead: the choice rests with you.

Now, lady, I shall go away;” and as he spoke he moved across the carpet

towards the door.

“Stay—stay a moment,” cried the Khanum in affright. “Let me call back

the slaves and give them their orders. The passages are long and

narrow—you may lose your way; slaves are there armed; the porter too is

armed, and he alone has the secret of that door-lock.”

“I had thought of all these things, lady,” said Hassan calmly, as he

returned from the edge of the carpet where he had taken up his

slippers,[87] which he placed under his belt, tightening the latter at

the same time so as firmly to secure them as well as his dagger. “It is

not my intention to trust to the good faith either of yourself or your

armed slaves in those dark passages; I prefer a road that is open and

familiar to me as the expanse of the desert.” So saying, he leisurely

approached the open casement, and looked out to see that no boats were

below or in the neighbourhood.

“Stay!” she cried, looking out with a shudder on the rapid current that

swept along the base of her house. “I swear to you by the Koran and by

the head of my father that my slaves shall conduct you safely out of the

palace.” And perhaps she spoke the truth, for at that moment a passion

that she would have called love, and admiration for the youth’s

dauntless courage, had banished from her mind the affront he had offered

to her pride; but he calmly replied—

“Lady, if you are not treacherous, your slaves might be so. The Nile and

I are old friends: if you are silent and your slaves faithful, you have

nothing to fear for or from Hassan.” So saying, he sprang head-foremost

from the casement into the rushing waters below. Uttering a faint

shriek, she looked forth from the window, and soon afterwards, at a

distance of fifty or sixty yards from where he dropped, she saw by the

moonlight that he had risen to the surface, and was swimming leisurely

down with the swift current of the Nile. “Mashallah! Mashallah! what a

man is that! and what a woman am I!” And for the first time—perhaps for

the last—during a period of many years that victim of ungoverned passion

buried her face in her hands and wept tears of shame and remorse.[88]

During the same evening Osman Bey, who had received orders to precede

his chief to Siout, and who was now on the eve of departure, sat in the

corner of a private room in his house, leisurely smoking a chibouq, and

questioning his confidential servant, Ferraj, who stood before him with

his hands crossed on his breast.

“So the old woman told you that she saw the young vagabond safe within

the door of the harem, did she?”

“It is even so, my lord, and she heard the bolts of the door shut upon

him by the _bowàb_” [porter].

“Allah be praised!” said the Bey, with a grim smile; “that upstart will

not cross my path again—he will never leave that house alive. Be on your

guard, Ferraj, and warn that old gossip to put a key on her tongue; for

if it were to be known that you or she had a hand in this matter, your

feet would be beat into a pudding, and she would sup with the fishes of

the Nile.”

Leaving this worthy vice-governor to continue the preparations for his

journey, let us return to our hero, whom we have most unkindly left

swimming down the river on a cold November night. His course was rapid

enough, and ere long he saw some lights on the right bank which he knew

to mark a café where he often smoked his evening pipe, and which was not

very far from Delì Pasha’s house: there he landed, and having wrung the

water from his clothes, walked on towards the café, which he found

occupied by only two or three drowsy smokers, the night being now far

advanced.

Making his way into the host’s room, with whom he was well acquainted,

he asked him to afford him lodging for the night, and to lend him a dry

blanket or two, explaining his present appearance by saying that he had

accidentally fallen into the water.

The host, with whom Hassan was a favourite, from his quiet habits and

from his always paying ready money for his coffee and pipe, willingly

granted his request, and ordered a fire to be lighted, at which our

hero’s clothes were hung that they might be dry by daylight. Hassan

himself, after drinking a cup of hot coffee, lay down on the floor in

his blanket, and in a few minutes was in a sleep as profound as if he

had been reposing on the softest bed in Cairo. Rising at the first grey

of dawn, and making the best toilet that the circumstances admitted, he

proceeded to Delì Pasha’s house before any of the servants were

loitering about the door, and reached his own room unobserved.

Very few hours elapsed before he was summoned to the presence of his

chief, whom he found in one of the private apartments, and before him

stood a woman’s figure, in whom, although she dropped her veil over her

face on his entrance, he recognised Fatimeh Khanum, the Kiahia, or

governess of the harem. She was about to retire, but the Pasha stopped

her, saying, “It is not necessary that you should go; I have but a few

words to say to Hassan, and they contain no secrets.”

The Khanum withdrew a few steps aside, while the Pasha proceeded to

inform Hassan that the Viceroy had suddenly arrived at Shoobra, and as

it was necessary that a messenger should be sent to compliment his

Highness on his arrival and inquire after his health, it would be a good

opportunity for Hassan to take the message, and also to present the Arab

mare Nebleh.

“I have written a letter,” he added with a smile, “which you will also

bear, and which will inform our lord how I came to offer him this

present.”

“May your bounties always increase,” replied Hassan; “on my head be it

to obey your orders, but if I might be bold enough to make an

observation——” here he hesitated, and cast his eyes aside at the Khanum,

as if he would rather communicate what he had to say to his lord’s ear

alone.

“Speak out, man,” said the impatient Pasha; “mind not our good Kiahia

Khanum. She has been long in our house, and we know her discretion.”

“I wished to say,” replied Hassan, “that your _mirakhor_, Ahmed Aga, is

a true and faithful servant of your lordship, and he is a true and good

friend of mine: it is his right and privilege to convey to the Viceroy

any horse presented by your lordship. On such occasions you know that

his Highness gives a liberal present to the bearer. Were you to send me

with the horse, it would be an unjust slight to a faithful servant, and

would give me the pain of supplanting a friend.”

“Wallah! Wallah! you are right, boy. I had not thought of it. You shall

go together: you may deliver the compliments and the letter, while he

presents the horse.”

Before Hassan could reply, a servant came in to say that the Viceroy’s

secretary was in the saloon with a message from his Highness. Starting

up from the corner where he sat, Delì Pasha told them to remain where

they were, while he went in to learn the secretary’s business with him.

Thus were Hassan and the Khanum again accidentally left together.

“My mother,” said our hero in a low and melancholy voice, “I remember

well what you said to me when we last met: your words cost me much pain,

but they were wise and true. I feel how far more humble I am in rank

than the priceless pearl whom you guard, and that it would be selfish in

me to do aught that could mar her high fortunes. Inshallah! I will never

cost her a tear; but there is no harm in my loving her with my whole

heart and soul as the Gheber loves and worships the sun, though he knows

he never can reach it. Such is my destiny; Allah has willed it; and I

could more easily pluck out my eyes from my head than her image from my

heart. Tell me, then, is she well and happy?”

“She is well,” replied the Khanum in a trembling voice, while she

muttered to herself in an agony of sorrow, “Allah, Allah, what is to be

done? Both these young loving hearts will be broken, for her love is as

deep and passionate as his!”

Hassan saw that she was weeping; a secret instinct told him that he was

loved by Amina. The ominous question shot from his eager eyes and rushed

to his lips, but by a strong and determined effort he conquered himself,

and compressed within him the words on which his destiny hung. He saw

that the Khanum pitied him, that her heart was under the influence of

tender sympathies, and he would not tempt her to forget her duty and

betray a secret which she was bound to preserve.

Fatimeh Khanum saw the struggle, and loved him the more for it. The

Pasha’s returning steps being now audible, she had just time to say,

“Allah preserve and bless you with all good,” when he re-entered the

room and resumed his seat.

“Hassan,” he said, “I have informed the secretary of your mission to

Shoobra, and he says that the Viceroy will be disengaged about the time

of the _âs’r_ to-day [three o’clock P.M.] Ahmed Aga shall go with you,

and present the mare as you propose, and you will deliver to his

Highness this letter.”

Having received the letter, Hassan withdrew, leaving his chief to

continue his conversation with the Khanum.

“What is the matter with Amina?” he said; “I have lately found her sad

and weeping.”

“How can your servant tell?” replied the Khanum. “Perhaps my young lady

is still afraid that your lordship will oblige her to marry some one

whom she cannot love—you had spoken to her on some such subject.”

“Foolish child!” replied the Pasha. “Tell her, then, to dry her tears,

for, Wallah! I only wish to see her happy, and I will not marry her by

force to any one.”

“I will convey your gracious message, and it will give her much

comfort,” said the Khanum, glad to escape from her lord’s presence; for

she felt oppressed by the secret of the mutual passion of the young

lovers, and dreaded lest by some unforeseen word it should come to

light.

Nebleh had been washed from head to foot in tepid water, and then rubbed

dry with cloths until her coat shone like the finest satin. Her sweeping

mane and tail had been carefully combed, and as she walked by the side

of the _sàis_ who led her, with a light elastic tread that scarcely

touched the ground, Ahmed Aga sighed to think that such a beautiful

animal was about to leave the stable of his chief.

When they reached the garden and mentioned their names to the porter at

the gate, they were at once admitted, and found the Viceroy reclining on

the crimson damask cushions of a divan in the corner of his kiosk, and

smoking a chibouq. On the floor, at a little distance, sate a Bedouin

sheik from the neighbourhood of Mount Sinai; and a little farther stood,

in respectful silence, a good-looking boy, with a round chubby face and

dark eyes, whose dress and jewel-hilted sword showed him to be of high

birth.

Hassan and Ahmed Aga having entered and made their salam, the former

informed the Viceroy that he was charged by Delì Pasha to present his

respects, and to congratulate his Highness on his safe arrival. Having

said this he came forward, and touching his forehead with the hem of the

Viceroy’s pelisse, delivered his letter. Mohammed Ali took it, and

bending his keen eyes on the bearer, as was his custom, with a

scrutinising look, he desired his secretary, who then entered the room,

to read it to him.[89]

The latter did so in a low voice that reached only his master’s ear, but

it was easy to see from the twinkling of his eyes and the expression of

his countenance that he was both interested and pleased by the contents.

When it was concluded he simply said, “Peki, peki” (Very well, very

well), then asked Ahmed Aga his business.

“May your Highness’s life be prolonged. I am your servant, Ahmed Aga,

_mirakhor_ to Delì Pasha, who has charged me to present to you in his

name the Arab mare Nebleh, who is, I believe, mentioned in the letter

just honoured by your perusal.”

“Where is she?” said Mohammed Ali; “I would see her.”

“I left her outside the garden gate,” said Ahmed. “The walks in your

Highness’s garden are not for horses’ feet.”[90]

“True, true,” replied the Viceroy. “Inshallah! we will go out and see

her. Come along, Sheik Abou-Fazl, you should know an Arab mare; and you

too, Abbas, will like to see one.” So saying he walked to the garden

gate, followed by the party and preceded by a dozen of his _kawàsses_.

When they reached the gate, Ahmed Aga stripped Nebleh of the light

gold-edged cloth which he had thrown over her to keep the dust from her

glossy coat, and the Viceroy’s eye fell on her form, in whose

symmetrical proportions neither envy nor criticism could find a flaw.

Mohammed Ali looked at her in grave and silent admiration, the Arab

sheik gave a strange grunt conveying a similar impression, while the

young Abbas’s eyes told the same tale, though he could not venture to

speak until spoken to in the presence of his grandfather. After being

led about for a few minutes amidst the “Mashallahs!” of all who saw her,

she was saddled and bridled by the Viceroy’s order, who turned to

Hassan, saying—

“We know your horsemanship well; we should like to see her gallop and

play.”

“My lord,” replied Hassan, casting down his eyes upon the large

proportions of his frame, “although Nebleh could carry me, and would

carry me until she dropped dead, she would look better and move more

easily under a lighter rider. If your Highness will permit this young

Prince (for such I take him to be) to mount her, I think it would please

him much, and would show the mare to better advantage.”

“Well, be it so,” said the Viceroy, adding in a lower tone, “She is not

violent or restive, is she?”

“Quiet and docile as a lamb, though swift as an eagle,” was the reply.

With eyes sparkling with joy the young Prince jumped into the saddle,

and in a moment Nebleh was in full career: now wheeling to the right,

now to the left, at the slightest touch of the heel or bridle, and after

a few minutes returning to the spot whence she had started, with her

transparent nostril widely dilated and her proud eye awakened by the

inspiriting gallop.

“Aferin! aferin! [well done] Abbas,” said the Viceroy; “it is enough for

the present. Ahmed Aga and Hassan, you may return to Delì Pasha, and

convey to him our friendly greeting and our wish that Allah may prolong

his days.”

The two friends made their obeisance and slowly returned towards Boulak.

“Do you know who is that youth?” said Ahmed Aga to his companion.

“I know him not,” replied Hassan; “but from his dress and bearing I

suppose him to belong to the Viceroy’s family.”

“You conjecture rightly, and the Viceroy is said to be very fond of him:

he is the son of Toussoun Pasha, Effendina’s second son,[91] who

distinguished himself so much in the war against the Wahabees. Alas! his

fate was a strange and sad one.”

“I have heard,” said Hassan, “that he died in the prime of life, but I

know nothing more.”

“After his successes in Arabia,” continued Ahmed Aga, “he was so popular

in the army that Ibrahim Pasha grew jealous of him and hated him; but

what is more strange is that his own father also grew jealous of him,

and of his popularity with the soldiers: perhaps his suspicions were

strengthened by the tales of slanderers, who told him that Toussoun

meant to rebel against him and dethrone him. Certain it is that the

unfortunate Prince died of poison administered to him in some sherbet or

wine that he drank during a feast given by him to some of his friends:

he died immediately, and it is believed that the poison was given by

Mohammed Ali’s order.”

“Horrible!” ejaculated Hassan. “Father and son! As it is not proved, let

us hope it is not true.”[92]

“The Discoverer of Secrets [_i.e._, Allah] knows,” replied Ahmed; and

conversing on various matters, they reached the house of Delì Pasha.

No sooner had they put their feet on the stairs leading to the saloon

than they became aware that something unusual had occurred: a crowd of

servants had gathered near the door of the room, and from within was

heard the voice of the Pasha pouring forth at its highest pitch a

torrent of threatening vituperation. “You have never seen him in one of

these fits of passion,” whispered Ahmed Aga to Hassan; “when they seize

him he is mad and ungovernable.”

Hassan having inquired from one of the servants the cause of this storm,

was informed that it was about a sword with a jewelled hilt of great

value which Mohammed Ali had given to the Pasha after the war with the

Wahabees. It had been in charge of a young Mameluke named Kasem, who

filled the office of Master of the Wardrobe, and as it was now missing,

Delì Pasha charged him with stealing it, and threatened to have him

beaten to death. As this lad was one of those who had sportively

attacked Hassan on the day of the jereed play, and from his frank and

merry character was one of our hero’s favourites, he would not believe

him guilty of such a crime without the strongest proofs, and he resolved

at once to hear what those proofs were.

Forcing his way through the crowd at the door, he entered the room, and

his eye immediately fell upon the youth accused, standing apparently

under arrest, between two of the servants. Hastily walking up to him,

Hassan fixed his searching gaze on the countenance of the youth and

said, “Kasem, tell me, by your life and by your father’s head, have you

committed this crime?”

“Wallah, I have not!” replied the youth, looking up in Hassan’s face

with a firm voice and clear, untroubled eye; “but our lord will not hear

nor listen: the sword has been stolen from my room, but who is the thief

is only known to Him to whom the absent is present.”

During this short dialogue the Pasha had continued, like an angry lion

in a cage, pacing up and down the upper end of the room as if “nursing

his wrath to keep it warm” by rapid motion as well as by curses and

threats; his eyes were inflamed, and his face red up to the very

temples. These violent bursts of passion, although of late less frequent

than of old, when they procured him his name of Delì (mad), were well

known to his followers and servants, and while they lasted none dared to

speak a word to him. Suddenly he stopped and shouted to the youth,

“Viper! son of a dog! wilt thou confess thy crime, and where thou hast

hid the sword?”

“My lord,” replied the youth in a humble yet sincere tone of voice, “I

have told you all I know: the sword has been stolen from my room—I know

not where it is.”

“Dog of a liar!” cried the Pasha in a still louder tone. “Take him away

and beat him till he confesses: give him three hundred on the feet, and

throw him into the dungeon. Away with him!”

With a hasty signal to the man who held the youth to delay a moment,

Hassan came forward, and, to the astonishment of all the household,

walking composedly to within a few feet of the Pasha, said to him—

“My lord, let me entreat you to have a little patience, and defer the

punishment of this youth; perhaps we may find the sword or discover the

thief.”

“And who are you?” cried the Pasha, astonished at this unwonted

audacity; “who are you that dare to offer me your unasked counsel, and

come between me and my revenge?”

“I am your servant Hassan, whom you have already loaded with favours,

and therefore it is that I love my lord so well that I wish his

displeasure rather than see him commit an act of injustice.”

“Begone,” roared the Pasha, “if you would not drive me mad. When that

imp of Satan has stolen a sword, the reward of my services and my blood,

am I to be told by an upstart like you that I may not punish him?”

“You may punish him, doubtless,” said Hassan calmly; “you may punish any

in your house, for you have the power: but if you do punish him now, and

after a few days we bring you the sword, or proof that it was stolen not

by him but by others—I know your generous heart—you will then suffer

tortures; you will curse this hour of hasty passion, and will say, ‘Had

I not one faithful servant to say to me, Do not stain your name with

this act of cruelty?’”

During this speech the rage of the Pasha had been burning with a fiercer

fire: to be thus lectured and reproved in the height of his fury by a

mere youth, and in the presence of all his household, was a trial to

which his fierce temper had never before been exposed. His lip grew

white, and his limbs literally trembled with concentrated passion.

“Son of a dog!” he cried, “if thou wilt not hold thy peace this shall

silence thee——”

As he spoke he drew his dagger from his shawl-sash and rushed at Hassan,

who was standing a few yards in front of him.

Hassan plainly saw the movement, and with his activity and gigantic

strength could easily have either sprung back a few feet and drawn his

sword or have wrested the dagger from the feebler hand of the Pasha, but

he saw before him only Amina’s father. Opening wide his arms, with a

calm, unblenching eye, he presented his broad chest to the descending

blade: it fell, but harmlessly over his shoulder, for the demon-spirit

had overpowered the frame which it possessed, and muttering, “Allah! I

cannot do it,” Delì Pasha staggered back a few paces, and would have

fallen to the ground had not Hassan caught him in his arms and borne him

gently to the divan whence he had so lately risen in the full tide of

excited passion.

All the attendants now crowded round the insensible form of their lord,

whom, by the order of Ahmed Aga and Hassan, they caused to be instantly

transported to the private apartments of the harem, while servants were

sent in all directions for the most skilful surgeon that could be found.

Not many minutes elapsed before the arrival of one possessed of some

skill and of presence of mind; blood was freely taken from the arm; soon

afterwards twenty or thirty leeches were applied to the back of the

neck, and before nightfall the symptoms that threatened a dangerous

brain fever had passed away.

Meanwhile Kasem was confined to his room and a guard placed at the door.

He was a general favourite, and none believed him guilty of the theft;

but as the sword had been in his custody, it was judged necessary to

keep him in confinement until some further light could be thrown on the

case, or the Pasha’s ulterior pleasure be ascertained.

In the course of two days, during which the invalid was tended by the

affectionate and unremitting care of Amina, the Pasha made rapid

progress towards recovery, but he observed a sullen and profound silence

as to the cause of his illness, neither did he issue any orders

respecting the punishment of Kasem; but all the circumstances were

already known throughout the harem, the eunuchs having gathered them

from the servants and repeated them, with various additions and

exaggerations, to the women under their charge. On one subject all the

reports agreed—namely, that Hassan had mortally offended his chief, and

that his dismissal was certain.

Meanwhile all the exertions made by Ahmed Aga, Hassan, and others to

trace the missing sword or discover the thief had been unavailing, until

on the third day Reschid, the favourite Mameluke of the Kiahia Pasha,

came to see his friend Hassan, and the smile on his countenance

announced that he had some good news to communicate.

“Hassan,” he said, “you may remember that on the evening of your Pasha’s

illness I was sent here to make inquiries after his health by my lord:

you told me about the missing sword which he so much valued. One was

brought to me for sale this morning by a Jew who resides in the farthest

part of Cairo, which formerly belonged, as he said, to Ibrahim Elfi, the

great Mameluke Bey. I doubt the story. Should you know your Pasha’s

sword if you saw it?”

“Yes,” replied Hassan eagerly, “for I have seen it more than once in the

hands of young Kasem when he was rubbing the blade to keep it bright. I

know the sword even if the scoundrel has picked the diamonds out of the

hilt.”

“Come, then, with me,” said his friend; “we have no time to lose, for I

told the Jew this morning that I was busy and had not leisure to bargain

with him then for the price, but that he might leave it till the _âs’r_

[3 P.M.], when he might return, and if we agreed on the price, I would

pay him the money.”

A short hour’s ride brought the two friends to the Kiahia’s palace,

where they dismounted and proceeded at once to Reschid’s room, in one

corner of which was a sword. Hassan drew the sword from its sheath and

exclaimed—

“Wallah! it is the same. See, near the hilt is a lion of inlaid gold,

and below the words Fath-min-Allah [Victory is from God]. But, as I

expected, the rascally Jew has taken the diamonds from the hilt and

replaced them by these strips of gold.”

“El-hamdu-lillah!” cried Reschid; “the character of poor young Kasem

will, I trust, now be cleared.”

The Jew having arrived at the appointed hour, was surprised to find

himself in the grip of Hassan, who threatened to shake the life out of

his body if he did not confess from whom he had got the sword. The

affrighted Jew, finding that denial was vain, owned that it had been

brought to him by a servant of Delì Pasha’s, named Youssuf, a few days

before, and that he had himself taken out the diamonds to prevent its

recognition. The two friends followed up the investigation with energy.

Under the wholesome discipline of the stick Youssuf confessed that he

had stolen the sword from Kasem’s room while he was in attendance on the

Pasha. The diamonds were immediately recovered and replaced. On the

fourth evening the sword was sent up into the harem by the chief eunuch

with the following note:—

“HONOURED AND RESPECTED LORD,—The sword was stolen by the slave

Youssuf while Kasem was waiting in your presence. This from your

faithful and devoted