Chapter XI: Part 11

The robbers, not knowing how many more of Hassan’s followers might be approaching, fled as fast as their legs and horses could carry them. Several were killed and wounded by Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, and two they seized and brought back prisoners. While thus engaged, Hassan returned to Dervish Bey and exerted all that remained of his fast-failing strength in extricating him from the carcass of the dead horse—an object which he had scarcely effected ere he sank down beside him, weak and exhausted from loss of blood.

A happy smile passed over his features as he observed that the brave old soldier was altogether unhurt. The latter, with the ready presence of mind gained in many a former fight, wasted not a moment in thanking his deliverer, but busied himself in examining and binding up his wounds.

The worst of these proved to be two deep sabre-cuts, one in the side and another in the thigh. These he carefully closed and bound, and then he observed that blood was still trickling down his chest from a cut between the neck and shoulder-blade. While engaged in stanching and dressing this, his eye fell upon the amulet which Hassan wore round his neck, and the trembling hand of the veteran was scarcely able to accomplish the task ere he whispered with a faltering tone—

“Hassan, whence got you that amulet?”

“It was on my neck when I was left an infant on the base of the Pyramid,” replied Hassan in a faint voice.

“My son! my son!” ejaculated the old soldier in a voice in which joy, fear, and tenderness were strangely blended.

“Father! father! Allah be praised and thanked that I have found thee, if it be only to die on thy breast,” murmured Hassan, as he threw his arms round the veteran’s neck and fainted.

“Thou shalt not die, my beloved, my gallant boy,” said the Bey, almost fiercely. “And yet,” he added in a softened tone, as a tear trickled down his weather-beaten cheek and fell on the unconscious form of Hassan, “by Allah! and by my father’s grave, wert thou now to die, I would not change thee for the proudest and noblest of the living.”[112]

Hassan was laid gently on the ground, and Abou-Hamedi brought water from a neighbouring creek, which they sprinkled on his forehead; while Dervish Bey produced from one of his saddle-bags a small phial containing a cordial, which he always carried with him on his journeys, and a few drops of which soon restored Hassan to consciousness.

“Was it a dream? Father! father!” were the first words he uttered.

Beckoning to Abd-hoo to assist him, Abou-Hamedi collected the mules, which had strayed to some distance, and placed on them the Bey’s _khaznadâr_ and _chibouqchi_, who were both severely wounded: then he carefully reloaded his pistols and made Abd-hoo do the same, with a significant hint to the two prisoners that if they attempted to escape, their brains should be blown out. He then came up to the Bey and whispered to him—

“Excellency, we must lose no time in returning to Luxor: Hassan and the only two of your followers who survive are badly wounded. The Franks have always plenty of medicines, and Müller is a skilful hakim; let us place Hassan on my horse, and Abd-hoo will walk beside his saddle and support him. You can ride Abd-hoo’s horse and watch the prisoners, while I follow on foot and look after the mules.”

Dervish Bey, who had somewhat recovered his composure, saw that the advice was good. The _cortége_ having been organised as Abou-Hamedi suggested, and Hassan having been gently lifted into the saddle, where his half-inanimate form was supported by the powerful arm of Abd-hoo, they set out on their return, Abou-Hamedi bringing up the rear and leading the faithful Shèitan, who, like his master, was badly wounded but not disabled. In this guise they returned slowly, but without accident, to Luxor.

Müller’s surgical practice and readiness of resource were now productive of the best results. His own bed was given up to Hassan, whose wounds were skilfully dressed, and who soon fell asleep, although the murmured words of “Father,” “Shèitan,” and “Amina” which escaped his lips proved that his wandering thoughts were busy with the past, and that a fever crisis was yet to be feared.

That evening, after the wounds of all the sufferers had been attended to and every arrangement made for their comfort, Dervish Bey related to the Thorpes the strange accident by which he had recognised his long-lost son, and the heroic gallantry with which he had defended an unknown father’s life against such overwhelming numbers.

On the following day the Governor of Luxor, who was only a colonel, and consequently of inferior rank to Dervish Bey, went out by desire of the latter with a party of soldiers and fellahs to the scene of conflict in order to bury the dead. They were guided by Abou-Hamedi, who easily recognised and pointed out the spot where the Bey’s horse had fallen upon its side, the rider having been unable to withdraw his leg from its pressure. There still lay the horse, and around it seven dead bodies of the thieves attested the desperate valour with which Hassan had defended the fallen Bey.

A very short time elapsed ere Müller was able to assure Dervish Bey that the youth and vigour of Hassan’s constitution had triumphed over all dangerous symptoms. His strength was prostrated by great loss of blood; but this very circumstance saved him from the fever which had threatened to result from his severe wounds. Hassan learned with grateful pleasure that his faithful Shèitan had come in for his share of the attendance of the indefatigable Müller, who had sewed up the sabre-cuts and successfully extracted two balls which the gallant horse had received in the affray.

As soon as Hassan was able to sit up, an easy-chair was placed for him in the open air by his English friends, and daily he sat there with his father beside him, each looking upon the other with an affection too deep for words—an affection that seemed as if it were endeavouring by its intensity to make amends for the long separation to which they had been exposed by Fate.

This new and blessed sensation of filial love, and the happy feeling that he had been the fortunate instrument of saving that honoured parent’s life, gave to Hassan’s mind a feeling that now he had not lived in vain, and hope whispered to him that the son of Dervish Bey might aspire without presumption to the hand of Amina.

He was thus gradually recovering his health and strength, and during the hours of his convalescence listened with eager interest to the history of his father’s fortunes, a brief abstract of which we will now subjoin.

About seventeen years before the opening of our tale Selim Aga, a young man of good birth and connections in Constantinople, being a son of a former Governor of Damascus, came to Egypt in the train of the chief eunuch, who had been despatched, with a numerous and honourable suite, as bearer of a diamond-hilted sword and other valuable presents from the Sultan to Mohammed Ali,—the chief object of his mission being to incite the warlike Governor of Egypt to undertake an expedition against the Wahabees, who were threatening to subvert the imperial power in Arabia. In the suite of the chief eunuch there were also Ingòu Khanum, a young lady of high rank, who had been betrothed to Mustapha Bey, the Viceroy’s brother-in-law, and her younger sister, for whom the chief eunuch proposed to find an honourable alliance in the viceregal family. But by one of those accidents which occur in voyages, the latter saw Selim Aga, and they fell in love with each other.

She contrived to escape from the harem to which she had been brought in Cairo, flew to her lover, who married her secretly and conveyed her to a house which he had taken for the purpose in Ghizeh.

The rage of the chief eunuch knew no bounds. All Cairo was searched, but in vain; her disguise as an Egyptian woman, residing in a cottage at Ghizeh, protected her for a time, and the chief eunuch returned to Constantinople without having been able to discover her retreat.

The young couple lived for some time happily in their retirement, Selim Aga continuing to serve the Viceroy in Cairo and visiting his wife by stealth. However, some one who entertained a spite against him discovered his secret, and orders were given for the immediate seizure of his wife and himself: he fortunately received notice of this order in time to hasten to his cottage at Ghizeh and warn his wife of their perilous situation.

Not a moment was to be lost: disguised as a fellah, she sought and found refuge in the house of a kind-hearted neighbour; whilst he, snatching up their only child, with the few articles of value that he could secrete about his person, galloped off to the desert and placed his child in the hands of an Arab woman whom he found seated at the base of the Great Pyramid. Thence he fled towards Lower Egypt as fast and as far as his horse could carry him. In the neighbourhood of Alexandria he threw off his Turkish dress, having procured and assumed that of a wandering dervish.

When his beard and his hair had become sufficiently long and matted, and his face stained enough to ensure him against recognition, he ventured to return to Cairo in order to inquire into the fate of his wife; but all his researches proved unavailing, although he had the satisfaction of learning that she had eluded the search of those who were ordered to seize her.

Still habited and disguised as a dervish, he found his way with a caravan of pilgrims to Mecca, and thence, following the bent of his early habits and predilections, joined the army of Ibrahim Pasha, engaged in hostilities with the Wahabees.

On one occasion, when Ibrahim was nearly surrounded and hard pressed by a body of the enemy, he was surprised by hearing beside him the loud shout of a dervish (“Allah-hoo! Allah-hoo!”), who, armed with an enormous club garnished with iron spikes, came forward to the rescue. Horse and man went down before the sweeping blows of the dervish’s terrible weapon. Apparently reckless of life, he went forward striking to the right and the left, and shouting “Allah-hoo!” in a voice that terrified the Arabs, who, thinking that he must be a _jinn_ or _afreet_, fled before him. When the battle was over, Ibrahim sent for him to his tent and inquired what he could do to reward him.

“Give me a horse and a sword,” was the reply of the dervish; “I ask no more.”

“That you shall have,” replied Ibrahim; “and, Wallah! if thou canst use a sword as thou dost handle that knotty club, it will not be long before thou dost attain to honour and distinction.”

The horse and the sword were given, and in every succeeding action the dervish, still clothed in the same wild attire, was in the foremost ranks, shouting “Allah—hoo!” and striking down all before him. Such was his skill in the use of the sword that he was soon known in the Egyptian army as Dervish the Swordsman; and although, as he rose in rank, he laid aside the mendicant dress for that of an officer, he never thought fit to resume his original name, but retained that under which by his valour he had attained the rank of bey. He had the rare good fortune to be equally a favourite with Mohammed Ali and Ibrahim, as he never mixed in any political intrigues, but simply did his duty as a brave soldier.

“And have you never succeeded in learning what became of my mother?” inquired Hassan when the veteran had concluded his narrative.

“Never,” he replied. “I learnt indeed that she visited her sister in disguise, who received her kindly, and procured for her, under a feigned name, a home in the harem of one of our pashas; but her sister is dead, and her secret died with her, unless, indeed, it be known to an old woman who was her favourite slave, and whom, if she be yet alive, I will try to find in Cairo.”

“Inshallah!” ejaculated Hassan earnestly, “may we find her.”

He then related to his father the incidents of his own brief but eventful life, which he did with the unassuming simplicity and truthfulness natural to his character. He made no secret of his attachment to Amina, or of the circumstances under which it had been fostered, and renewed hope arose in his breast when he found that his father and Delì Pasha were old companions in arms and intimate friends.

Hassan’s impatience to reach Cairo, in the hope of seeing Amina and tracing his mother, became now so great that Dervish Bey could not long resist it; but before setting out he determined, with the usual energy of his nature, to break up the band of thieves by whom he had been attacked, and who, notwithstanding the severe loss they had sustained, might still be sufficiently strong to do much mischief in the neighbourhood.

A liberal application of the stick to the two who had been captured soon induced them to betray the habitual rendezvous of the band, and Dervish Bey, accompanied by the Governor and a party of fifty horsemen, having made a rapid night march to the indicated spot, came upon them at dawn so unexpectedly that they had not time to make an effectual resistance or escape. A few were killed, and the greater part of the remainder were led back prisoners to Luxor, whence they were forwarded under a guard to Cairo, the galleys at Alexandria being their ultimate destination.

Having accomplished this task, Dervish Bey no longer resisted the urgent entreaties of Hassan that he should proceed to Cairo without delay. Mr Thorpe having brought up with him two tents, which were pitched on the river-bank, and sufficed for the accommodation of his party, he was able to lend his smaller dahabiah to convey Dervish Bey to Keneh, where his own boats awaited him. It was agreed that Abd-hoo should accompany Hassan, while Abou-Hamedi led Shèitan by slow stages to the capital.

Before leaving his kind English friends Dervish Bey testified his gratitude for the care and attention which they had shown to Hassan by giving them two curious relics which he happened to have with him, and which Hassan assured him would afford them the greatest pleasure.

To Mr Thorpe he gave a rare antique scarabæus, attached by a gold chain to a ring of the same metal, with a hieroglyphic inscription: it had been found near Assouan, and though only of the Ptolemaic date, was a very fine specimen. To Müller he gave a very old MS. of the New Testament, found in a ruined Coptic convent in the Said: one-half the page was written in Coptic and the other half in Greek. To Müller the volume was a great prize.

When the hour of leave-taking arrived, Hassan shook hands with all the party after the English fashion, thanking Mr Thorpe and Müller for all their kindness during his illness in few but feeling words.

Dervish Bey, who had followed close by Hassan in his leave-taking, now preceded him into the dahabiah, from whence they accomplished the voyage to Cairo without accident, and proceeded at once to a fine house belonging to the Bey, situated near the centre of the city, adjoining the Birket-et-Fil, or the “Lake of the Elephant.”

The old soldier, knowing the severity of Mohammed Ali in all cases where his authority had been publicly braved, hastened to the Viceroy’s presence to explain to him the strange circumstances under which he had recovered his long-lost son, and to solicit a full pardon of the latter’s offences against the laws in Upper Egypt. He delivered also to the interpreter the letter written by Müller, which was forthwith read to the Viceroy. Mohammed Ali, who had listened with grave attention to all the arguments adduced by Dervish Bey and to the contents of the letter, said—

“Dervish, you know how highly I regard your services and your long-tried fidelity, and how willingly I would grant any request of yours. I rejoice, also, that you have recovered a son who is in many respects so well worthy of you; for I confess to you that I took a great liking to the lad, and our good hakim here is always speaking in his favour. I own that I owe him a debt for saving your life, my faithful old comrade, when he did not know that you were his father.”

So far Mohammed Ali spoke in a kind and friendly tone: he added, with somewhat of severity in his manner, “But, Dervish, you must not forget that Hassan for some time openly defied my authority, and I am bound to listen to the complaints of the villagers and caravans who were plundered by his band: such deeds cannot go unpunished while I rule in Egypt. The government of the interior I intrust to the Kiahia Pasha, and I must consult with him before coming to a decision. Meanwhile go to your home, and consider Hassan as being under arrest in your house: you are answerable for his appearance when required, and I will cause the orders issued for his apprehension to be cancelled. For the present be satisfied with this. You may retire, and Allah be with you!”

Dervish Bey well knew from the tone in which these words were spoken that all further appeal at the time was unavailing, so, with a respectful salam to the Viceroy, he withdrew and returned home to report to Hassan the result of his interview.

Our hero was by no means discouraged thereby, for he saw that he stood high in the Viceroy’s opinion, and he felt tolerably sure that both in Delì Pasha and in the Kiahia himself he would find advocates of his cause. On the subject his mind was soon made easy by his old friend and comrade Reschid, who no sooner heard of his arrival in Cairo than he hastened to him and embraced him heartily.

“Mashallah!” said Reschid, gazing at Hassan, whose countenance was bronzed and his figure developed by a year passed in constant exercise and exposure; “I left you a lion, and I find you an elephant. By the life of the Prophet, Hassan, I have often secretly envied your Bedouin life. I laughed heartily, and I can tell you that my Pasha in his private room laughed heartily also, at your having sent that ill-favoured cur Osman Bey into his own town tied on the back of an ass!”

“Then you do not think,” said Hassan, “that the Kiahia will be very hard on my follies? Much will depend upon it, for the Viceroy told my father that he intended to consult the Kiahia on the subject.”

“In the _mejlis_” (_i.e._, the council), “and in the presence of others,” replied Reschid, “the Kiahia will talk before Mohammed Ali with great solemnity and severity about offences against the laws, &c., but when they are together in private, he will tell him that you were a hot-blooded youngster, driven mad by the insulting cruelty of Osman Bey; and it is fortunate that even the merchants and villagers who have sent in complaints of having been plundered by your band have always written that you never permitted any bloodshed, and that you often restored to the poorest the booty taken from them. No, no, Hassan; you have nought to fear, for we will bring such a battery to bear upon the Viceroy that he will not be able long to hold out. We will attack him in front, while a certain Khanum, whom I could mention, will besiege the harem; for we have all heard how you saved the life of Delì Pasha’s daughter, and as Fate seems to have destined you to be a robber, you began your trade by stealing her heart.”

“Not so, Reschid,” replied Hassan, laughing; “I gave her my own first, and if she would not give it me back, but chose to give me hers in place of it, you cannot accuse me of theft.”

“I wish some dark-eyed houri would steal mine,” said Reschid, “for it is a very troublesome article to keep in one’s own possession. I know not why I should have lent you a large slice of mine from the date of our first acquaintance, for you do not deserve it; you have not even offered me your congratulations.”

“On what event?” said Hassan. “On your marriage?”

“Marriage? no,” replied his merry friend; “on becoming a great man! Have you not heard that since we parted I have been made _khaznadâr_ to the Kiahia? Mashallah! it is a wonderful office. Bakshishes are plentiful as petitioners, and if I wanted money I should only have to stand for a minute before our divan with my hand open and my eyes shut. Wallah! Hassan, I am in a fair way to become a greater robber than ever you have been.”

“I will not dispute the precedence with you,” replied Hassan. “I congratulate you heartily; but as I am now a poor prisoner, and have no bakshish to offer, I fear I cannot expect that your Excellency will intercede with the Kiahia on my behalf.”

“Bakkalum! we shall see,” answered Reschid with mock gravity, and took his leave.

Another of the earliest and most frequent of Hassan’s visitors was his old friend Ahmed Aga, who brought him many kind messages from Delì Pasha, although the latter had been forbidden by the Viceroy for the present to visit Hassan in person. Neither did our hero long remain without secret communication with his lady-love; for he had not been two days in Cairo ere the _bowàb_ sent up word that a dumb boy wished to see him, and Murad rushed into the room and kissed Hassan’s feet and hands with every demonstration of overflowing attachment.

Our hero was much touched by the grateful affection of his mute _protégé_, whom he received with all his former kindness, and he soon found himself seated by the side of the intelligent boy practising over again the finger-language that he had partially forgotten. His efforts did not long go unrewarded, for he was soon able to comprehend that his youthful companion was a frequent visitor to Delì Pasha’s harem, where he was a great favourite of the old chief eunuch and of Fatimeh Khanum, and that he sometimes had the honour of being introduced into the presence of Amina herself. The young lady flattered herself that the interest which she felt in the dumb boy arose entirely from compassion for his infirmity, but it _may_ have been partially owing to his having been a _protégé_ of Hassan.

How happily Hassan made him relate all his little tales of the harem—how he had bought some fine blue beads for the eunuch and some sweetmeats for Fatimeh, of which she had given him a portion to eat. “And see what I got from another,” and as he spoke he pulled out a little bouquet of flowers.

“Who gave you these? and for whom were they intended?” said Hassan, impatiently.

“I must not tell,” replied the sly little messenger, giving them to Hassan; “but I have done with them as I was bid.”

“And I,” replied Hassan, “must not give you any message concerning them, but you may say what became of them,” and as he spoke he pressed them to his lips, and opening his vest placed them near his heart. The little boy smiled, and kissing his protector’s sleeve, withdrew to give an account of his mission.

Cheered by such visits, Hassan’s time passed agreeably enough. Nor was his confinement irksome, for at the back of his father’s house was a space sufficiently large to admit of his taking his favourite exercise, and he employed several hours in breaking in and training for the jereed game several high-couraged young colts which he found in his father’s stable.

Nevertheless, day after day passed without bringing any material change in his situation. The exertions of his friends seemed to have failed in inducing Mohammed Ali to grant him a free pardon, and Dervish Bey refused to make any second application, saying—

“If the fact of the brave boy’s having saved the life of Mohammed Ali’s faithful soldier and servant does not merit reward in his estimation, I would rather cut out my tongue than apply to him again.”

Time wore on, and Hassan’s spirits, which had begun to be depressed by the monotony of his life, were again refreshed by the arrival of Abou-Hamedi leading Shèitan, who had entirely recovered from his wounds, and whose coat, saving two or three honourable scars, was as bright and glossy as ever.

A packet also reached Cairo from Hadji Ismael, the merchant, sent in reply to a letter written to him by Hassan immediately on his arrival. The packet contained all the relics which had been found on Hassan’s infant person. Although not necessary to confirm Hassan’s identity, of which the veteran had never entertained a doubt, a tear fell as he saw these reminiscences of his youth and of his long-lost wife.

“Hassan,” said his father, “I have ascertained that the old woman from whom I had hoped to learn something of your mother’s fate is dead; but we must not abandon hope. Allah is great, and he is the revealer of secrets. Our proverb says, ‘Patience is the key of happiness’; let us be patient, my son, and trust in Allah.”

One day Dervish Bey, in consequence of a message received from Delì Pasha, had gone to Boulak to pay him a visit. After the interchange of the customary pipes and compliments the attendants were dismissed, and Delì Pasha told his old comrade that he had just seen the Kiahia Pasha, and had learnt from him that he entertained a good hope that Hassan would soon receive a full pardon from the Viceroy, in confident anticipation of which he wished to speak with him on the subject of the marriage of their children, of whose mutual attachment there could be no doubt.

Dervish Bey assured his old comrade of the sincere pleasure which the alliance would give to himself, and after a brief and friendly discussion respecting the dowry and the provision to be made for the young couple, which terminated to their mutual satisfaction, Delì Pasha said—

“Now, Dervish, that we are to be related by the marriage of our children, and as you have no wife to settle these harem affairs for you, it is right that you should see your intended daughter-in-law, and I will send and inquire whether she is in her apartment and can receive us now.” He clapped his hands and delivered the message to a servant, who speedily returned from the harem door with the reply, “On our head be it, we shall be honoured by your visit.”

Amina remained in her inner room. How her heart beat at the thought that she was going to see Hassan’s father, and as she reflected that her father could not have brought him to the harem had not the marriage been agreed upon between them. Fatimeh Khanum was charged to receive them and pay the first compliments in the outer apartment, after which she was to introduce both to Amina’s presence.

As soon as they entered the harem curtain-door Fatimeh, in her capacity of Kiahia Khanum, received them with a courteous salam, and commenced the usual complimentary phrases of welcome, when her tongue began to falter: she threw back her veil to see more clearly the features of Dervish Bey, and then, throwing wide her arms in the attempt to embrace his knees, she exclaimed, “Selim! Selim!” and fell fainting at his feet.

Raising her gently and placing her on a divan which was near, the veteran gazed upon her altered but pleasing features, and tears of joyful emotion started in his eyes as he said, “It is, indeed, my long-lost Zeinab! Allah be thanked! what blessings has he poured on my grey head.”

Amina, alarmed at the exclamation and the fall of her faithful friend, whom she loved almost as a mother, rushed into the room, and giving a rapid glance of greeting to her father, hastened to the side of the insensible Khanum.

With what overwhelming emotions did the rude old soldier, who had been for so many years cast out from all the comforts and tender ties of domestic life, contemplate the lovely figure bending with all the anxious care of a daughter over his newly-found wife. She sprinkled her brow with water, chafed the cold hands within her own, and when she found that her efforts were successful, and that the Khanum began to recover her senses, she threw back the redundant tresses that had fallen over her face and neck, and looking up in her father’s face, said, almost in a tone of reproach—

“Father, what has been said or done to reduce my dear Khanum to this state?”

“Come into the next room, my child, and I will tell you all,” said Delì Pasha, leading her away; and then observing that the Khanum was fast coming to herself, he added, addressing the other attendants, “Begone, all of you, and wait without.”

While Delì Pasha was explaining to his daughter the unexpected accident by which Dervish Bey had found in their Kiahia Khanum, whom they had always known as Fatimeh, his long-lost wife Zeinab, the reunited couple, left alone, were recounting to each other the incidents and adventures that they had met with during their long separation; and when Fatimeh learnt that Hassan was indeed her son, tears of grateful pride and joy streamed from her eyes as she said—

“Oh, Selim, a secret voice in my heart whispered this to me, and yet I dared not believe it. I saw him, and I loved him with an affection that I could not explain to myself. In fear and terror I was the confidante of his love for Amina. I thought that I was doing wrong; and yet, while I warned and reproved them both, Allah knows how my heart bled and longed to see them united. Allah be praised for all his goodness. They will yet be happy! for in truth, Selim, there lives not in all Egypt a maiden so sweet, so adorned with all high and lovable qualities, as my Amina. Let us go in and see her, and let her know how happy we are.” So saying, she led the way into the inner room, where Amina threw herself into the Khanum’s arms. The tender words of “my mother” and “my child” interchanged between them could scarcely add anything to the affection which they had borne to each other in their former relation of instructress and pupil.

Seldom does it happen that a Mohammedan soil, so sterile of domestic affections, can witness so happy a kindred group as was there assembled; and the news soon spread throughout the house that their Kiahia Khanum was the mother of Hassan and the wife of Dervish Bey. All the eunuchs and slave-girls in the harem crowded round her to kiss her hand, and she found in their sincere congratulations a reward for the gentle rule that she had exercised over them.

The other wives of Delì Pasha also sent over from the opposite wing of the harem a message that they wished to come over and pay her a visit of felicitation; and as it was contrary to etiquette that Dervish Bey should see them, he availed himself of the opportunity to rise and take his leave, saying—

“I must go and communicate this happy news to our dear boy: you know not how his heart has longed to find and embrace his mother. Amina, may I take him a message from you? What shall I say to him?”

A blush passed over the face of the maiden as she replied in a low voice, “Say to him what your kind heart dictates. With my father’s permission I will not gainsay your words.”

“May I tell him, then,” said the veteran, “that his faithful love is returned?”

Amina raised her liquid eyes to her father’s face, and meeting there an approving smile, she murmured, “Now, and for ever!”

With what a light and buoyant heart did the old soldier mount his horse to return to his house and communicate his budget of glad tidings to his son; but he was doomed to disappointment, for on inquiring for Hassan he was nowhere to be found. One of the _sàises_, on being questioned, stated that he had ridden out early in the morning, accompanied by Abou-Hamedi, but no one knew whither he had gone.

“Rash boy!” exclaimed Dervish Bey; “now has he overthrown all our plans, and dipped our hands in scalding water. He was under arrest, and ordered to remain within these walls. Mohammed Ali will be furious, and Allah knows how we shall appease his anger.”

Let us now explain the circumstances which had led to Hassan’s sudden disappearance.

Before the dawn of this same day Hassan had been roused from his sleep by the entrance of Murad, the dumb boy, who had with the greatest difficulty awakened the drowsy _bowàb_ and obtained admittance. Our hero saw at a glance that his young _protégé’s_ countenance was haggard and careworn, and that he was exhausted by fatigue.

After ordering some bread and a cup of coffee to be brought immediately, he asked Murad in his usual kindly tone what had led him to come before daylight, and why he looked so pale and fatigued. The little boy gazed at him earnestly, and then with his fast-moving fingers said, “A matter of life and death.”

“Rest and compose yourself for a few moments,” replied Hassan, who saw that the boy was in a state of nervous excitement, and he would not permit him to begin his story until he had eaten some bread and drunk his cup of coffee. But the secret with which Murad’s breast was charged was of such a nature that he longed to unburden it to his protector, fearing that the loss even of a few minutes might be productive of disastrous consequences.

His narrative was as follows: On the preceding day he had accidentally passed by a café situated near the Bab-en-Nasr (the Gate of Victory), when he heard a voice within, which he thought he recognised as that of Osman Bey, in conversation with another man, and he distinguished plainly the names of Mohammed Ali, Delì Pasha, and that of the Kiahia, mentioned in rapid and eager tones. In conclusion the one speaker said to the other—

“It must be done quickly: meet me here again to-night, two hours after sunset, and bring the others with you.”

Murad felt an irresistible curiosity to learn the subject of this evening conference, and he did not anticipate much difficulty in doing so, as he was well known to the keeper of the coffee-shop, a bluff old Arnàout, who had often allowed the friendless and mutilated child to earn or beg a few coppers at his door before the kindness of Hassan and Amina had placed him beyond the reach of absolute want.

Hastening home, Murad took out of his box an old and ragged dress, which he had not worn for a twelvemonth, and having put it on, hung round his neck a tablet with which he had formerly solicited the assistance of the charitable, and on which was written in Turkish and Arabic, “Give a few _paras_ to the deaf and dumb for the love of Allah!”

He sallied forth about an hour after sunset, and made his way to the café. Old Arnàout, on noticing him, said, “Murad, poor little fellow, it is long since I have seen you; where have you been?” Receiving no reply, he added, “I forgot that he can neither hear nor answer me”; so saying, he dropped one or two copper coins into his hand, which Murad put into a little tin box which was slung beside his tablet. He then entered the café, as had been his custom of old, assisting the urchin who waited on the guests in carrying them lighted coals for their pipes or taking away empty _finjâns_ of coffee. But the guests were few, for the café was in an unfrequented part of the town, and the weather was cold.

The last of them were just retiring when Osman Bey entered, accompanied by three or four other men, all of whom, like himself, were wrapped in large cloaks. It was evident that they were desirous of preserving an incognito, for they had brought with them neither servants nor pipes: they sipped, however, some coffee, and smoked the rude _chibouques_ of the café.

After a short time they were joined by another party, consisting also of four or five men, in the foremost of whom Murad recognised Ali Bey, the colonel of the regiment of Bashi-Bazouks who were on duty at the Esbekiah, and guarded Mohammed Ali’s palace in that quarter. For some time they conversed on indifferent subjects, but ere long they called for arrack, which seemed to loosen their tongues, while Murad went about among them renewing their pipes.

“Who is this youngster?” said Ali Bey, catching him by the arm, while he addressed the coffee-house-keeper.

“He is a poor child whom I have known for several years,” replied the Arnàout. “He comes here sometimes to earn or beg a few _paras_; he is deaf and dumb.”

“Is he?” replied Ali Bey, drawing the boy towards him and reading the tablet on his breast; “then he is just the boy for us. Send out those lads of yours, and Wallah! if we catch one of them coming within earshot we will clip their ears for them; we want to talk over our private affairs.” He added a few words in Greek which Murad did not understand, to which the Arnàout replied by a wink and disappeared.

“Bring me a pipe,” said Ali Bey, suddenly turning to Murad and speaking in a loud stern voice. Murad never stirred, but stared in the Colonel’s face and opened his little tin box.

“Jaffier spoke the truth,” muttered the Colonel half aloud. “I thought he would not dare to deceive me; the imp is as deaf as a stone.” They then continued to drink their cans of arrack, which Murad refilled for them, while they spoke without reserve of the plans which they had met to arrange, and which were neither more nor less than to seize or kill Mohammed Ali and overthrow his Government.

“Are you sure of your Bashi-Bazouks, Ali?” inquired Osman Bey.

“Never fear them,” replied Ali; “the dogs are as savage as bears. We have drawn their pay from the Treasury, but we have not given them a _para_ of it for some months, and have told them that Mohammed Ali refuses to pay them and threatens to bastinado any of them that demand their pay. They are all on guard at the Esbekiah Palace, and if he falls into their clutches he will not give us much more trouble. The difficulty is how to bring him there, for the guards at Shoobra are obstinate fellows, and would fight like devils!”

“I will manage that matter,” said Osman Bey. “Those Shoobra guards are from Delì Pasha’s regiment. I will go there to-morrow morning and ask an audience of Mohammed Ali, and will easily persuade him that those guards are not to be trusted, for that Delì Pasha wants to marry his daughter to that outlawed robber Hassan, who is now in Cairo, and as they have not been able to obtain his pardon, they are conspiring against the Viceroy and tampering with the guards, who are of Delì Pasha’s own regiment. Mohammed Ali will assuredly believe there is some truth in this statement, and will agree to my proposal of coming in at once to his palace at the Esbekiah.”

“Have you succeeded yet in introducing the brother of your man Ferraj into the household at Shoobra?” inquired another of the conspirators.

“Yes,” replied Osman Bey. “Hadji Mohammed is employed in the house, and tells me all that goes on. If our other plans fail, that scoundrel can do the job for us with a cup of coffee; and he _must_ do my bidding, for he knows that a word of mine can send him when I will to the _gellad_ [executioner] or the galleys.”

“How are your fellows, Nour-ed-din?” said Ali, the Colonel, addressing one of the conspirators. “Can we count upon them?”

“I am not sure,” replied the officer thus interrogated. “I have kept back their pay too, and have thrown out a few phrases to stir their discontent. They grumble enough, and if our first blow succeeds they will doubtless join us; but they are much afraid of Ibrahim Pasha. How is he affected in this matter?”

“We must not tell it him beforehand,” replied Osman Bey; “for with all his cruelty he is a craven at heart and might betray us, not from the love but the fear that he has for Mohammed Ali. Let us put the Old Lion out of the way, and I will answer for managing Ibrahim afterwards. He will not be very angry, depend upon it.”

They then exchanged a few more sentences to regulate their proceedings for the following day, of which Murad only caught the words, “You all meet at my house at noon.” This was spoken by Ali Bey, who as he rose up to go away almost stumbled over the prostrate form of Murad, who had rolled himself in his old torn cloak and lay on the floor feigning sleep, but listening with eager anxiety to the dangerous secrets of which he had accidentally been made the partaker.

“What is this son of a dog doing here?” said Ali Bey, pointing with his foot to the recumbent form of Murad.

“It is only the deaf and dumb child,” replied one of the others contemptuously.

“Supposing he should prove to be neither deaf nor dumb, nor asleep?” said the suspicious Arnàout.

“I will just give him six inches of my dagger in the ribs, and then I shall be sure that he is deaf and dumb.” So saying, he drew his dagger, and held over the boy’s face a half-expiring lamp that he snatched from the table. A start, a tremor, the slightest indication of consciousness, would have been Murad’s instant death-warrant; but the brave little boy bore the severe ordeal. Not a muscle nor a quickened respiration betokened aught but the quiet slumber of youth.

“Pish!” said the rough savage, “his sleep is fast enough, whether he be deaf or not. Inshallah! before long my dagger will drink better blood than his.” So saying, he strode out of the café, followed by the other conspirators, who separated and went to their several homes.

For nearly an hour after they were gone Murad remained motionless collecting his scattered thoughts, which, unaccustomed as they were to dwell on conspiracies or political revolutions, seemed oppressed and overwhelmed by the terrible secret which he bore about him.

No sooner, however, did he recover from the terror which he had endured from the Arnàout’s dagger than he resolved at once to hasten to Hassan and tell him everything. This he did before dawn, as we have above mentioned; and our hero, having heard his tale, and made him repeat certain portions of it so as to feel assured of the accuracy of his memory, told Murad to remain in his room till he returned.

Having armed himself with a brace of pocket-pistols and a short dagger, which he concealed within his vest, he mounted his horse, and, accompanied by Abou-Hamedi, rode out towards the desert by the Gate of Victory. After skirting the desert for a couple of miles he turned to the left, through some cultivated fields and olive-plantations, until he found himself at the gates of the Shoobra garden. His only fear was that he might be denied access to the Viceroy; but he had made up his mind to demand it through his old acquaintance the medical interpreter.

Assuming, therefore, an authoritative air, he said to the gatekeeper in Turkish, “I wish to see the Hakim-Bashi, and my business with him is urgent.”

The man, influenced by Hassan’s commanding figure and the use of the Turkish language, immediately led the way to a small pavilion occupied by the hakim, and adjoining the private apartments of the Viceroy.

When Hassan entered he found the Doctor sitting in a comfortable dressing-gown drinking his cup of coffee and looking over the last Italian journal. When he saw our hero, and received his salutation, he seemed sorely perplexed, for a year and a half of hardship and exposure had changed the youth into a powerful man; yet the frank, open countenance, not easily forgotten, was there unchanged, and it was not necessary for him to name himself, for the hakim broke out suddenly, “_Cospetto di Bacco!_ it is Hassan himself. Why, man, I am glad to see you—no, I am not; I am sorry to see you, for you must be mad. You know that you are under arrest and forbidden to leave your father’s house—the Viceroy will never forgive disobedience to his orders.”

“Excellency,” said Hassan gravely, “I have come upon a matter of life and death, and I must see the Viceroy immediately and alone. It is not my life or death that is at stake, but one of greater value to me, to you, and to Egypt.”

“Per Bacco!” said the hakim, “your forehead looks like a thunder-cloud, and you speak like a man who is in earnest. You wish to see the Viceroy immediately and alone, you say?”

“Immediately,” repeated Hassan impatiently; “and alone.”

“But,” replied the cautious physician, “Mohammed Ali is a fearless man—the world knows it; but would it be usual, would it be right, that he should be left alone with——” Here the worthy physician hesitated as he cast his eyes upon the powerful figure before him.

“With a freebooter and outlaw, you would say,” interposed Hassan, with one of his frank smiles. “But I am not an assassin. I only said alone because I know not who of all his Highness’s attendants are trustworthy! However, I suppose you are, and therefore if the Viceroy pleases, you may be present, and you may hold a loaded pistol at my ear all the time that I am in his Highness’s presence.”

“I ask your pardon,” said the Italian hakim, offering his hand. “I did not mean to offend or to hint at your being an assassin; but you know what mischievous tongues wag in these Turkish _serais_, and how I should be blamed were I not cautious in all that regarded the safety of my chief. Now help yourself to a cup of coffee, and I will do your commission at once.” So saying, the hakim disappeared through a side-door that communicated directly with the Viceroy’s apartment. In five minutes he reappeared, and making a sign to Hassan to follow, led him to a small room where Mohammed Ali was seated in the corner on a divan covered with rich crimson damask.

“You have broken your arrest,” said Mohammed Ali, fixing his piercing eyes on Hassan as he entered; “I trust you have sufficient reason for your disobedience.”

“Your Highness shall judge,” replied Hassan, “when you have heard what I have to tell. I knew that I had already given you such serious ground of offence that I would not for a light cause have added another to the list.”

“Wallah! it is true that you have committed enough already in pillaging my villages and my people,” said Mohammed Ali sternly; “let that pass for the present, and say what you have to say before the Hakim-Bashi.”

Hassan proceeded to give a clear and distinct account of the conspiracy as communicated to him by Murad. The expressive features of Mohammed Ali underwent various changes during the narration, and his fingers more than once clutched the handle of the sword that lay across his knee when Hassan mentioned the names of the conspirators.

As soon as Hassan had concluded his narrative, Mohammed Ali, bending his shaggy brows on the speaker, said, “By the head of my father, if this tale be true, I will defile the graves of the fathers and mothers of these ungrateful dogs. But how can I feel assured that the whole is not an invention of this crazy, mutilated child?”

“I believe it is all true,” said Hassan with simple earnestness, “for the boy, though dumb, is faithful and intelligent. I am sure he would not deceive me, neither has he knowledge sufficient to refer to all these names and plots if he had not heard them as he states. Moreover, it is easy for your Highness to ascertain some points which may satisfy you as to the truth of the whole.”

“Which points?” said the Viceroy hastily.

“First,” replied Hassan, “is it true that a man called Hadji Mohammed, the brother of Osman Bey’s servant, Ferraj, has lately entered your Highness’s service?”

“That is true,” interrupted the hakim; “for I have seen the fellow, and an ill-looking dog he is.”

“Secondly,” continued Hassan, “if the boy’s story be correct, Osman Bey will visit your Highness within an hour or two, and recommend you to leave Shoobra and go into your palace of the Esbekiah, where Ali Bey’s Bashi-Bazouks are on guard.”

“That is true,” replied the Viceroy; “a few hours will remove all doubt. Hakim-Bashi, you remember that only a day or two ago the Kiahia wrote a note to say that some strange rumours were afloat as to these Bashi-Bazouks and another regiment being almost in mutiny from not having received their pay.”

“It is so,” replied the hakim, “and I went to the pay-office, by your Highness’s order, and got Ali Bey’s receipt for the whole amount due to them duly sealed and certified. I have it here,” and he produced the paper in question.

“These hornets must be crushed, and there is no time to be lost,” said the Viceroy in a musing tone; then suddenly bending his shaggy eyebrows on Hassan, he added, “Young man, you have done your duty in bringing us this news, bad though it be. What is the course which it is now best to pursue?—speak your mind.”

“Nay, your Highness,” said Hassan modestly; “if my arm or my life can be of use, they are at your service, but I am too young and inexperienced to offer an opinion in the presence of the best soldier in Islam.”

“Nevertheless,” replied the Viceroy, a certain malicious fun twinkling in the corner of his keen grey eye, “I would have your opinion, even though I should not choose to follow it. If all be true that I have heard, you have shown more skill in eluding or defeating my troops with your lawless band of vagabonds than could have been expected from so young a beard. I would see whether your wit be as sharp, now that you profess a desire to serve me. Speak, therefore, and without fear or reserve.”

After a few moments of reflection Hassan replied, “Were I to speak as my own impulse would prompt, I should say to your Highness, Summon to your side the Pashas, Beys, and regiments in whom you can trust, place me in the foremost rank, and let us straightway attack, bind, or destroy these conspirators.”