Chapter VIII: Part 8

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

HASSAN.”

Delì Pasha had read this note aloud. When he had finished it, Amina sprang up, and saying, “Allah be praised!” burst into tears of joy.

“Whence this strong emotion?” said he, surprised at her feeling so much interest in the subject.

“Because,” she replied, while blushes mantled over her face and neck—“because I knew how much you valued that sword.”

Oh, you little hypocrite, Amina!

Delì Pasha recovered slowly, and for several days never left his harem: something seemed to weigh upon his mind, and all Amina’s caresses and endearments were unable to restore his usual spirits. She could not understand the cause of this melancholy, for his lost sword had been recovered, the young Mameluke Kasem had been liberated by his order, and Mohammed Ali had shown his regard for him and his appreciation of the Arab mare Nebleh by sending an officer specially to inquire after his health, and to present him with a diamond ring on the part of his Highness, accompanied by a handsome sword for Ahmed Aga and a cashmere shawl for Hassan.

By dint of coaxing she at length elicited from him that his proud spirit was chafing at the humiliation to which he had been exposed by the outbreak of his ungovernable temper before all his household, and that exposure he most unjustly laid to the account of Hassan.

“My father,” she said as she sat at his feet, while his hand unconsciously played with the dark, redundant tresses that fell over her shoulders, “now that anger and illness have passed away, and that your good health and judgment are returning, do you not see that what Hassan did was done in fidelity and true service to you? Had he not spoken and stayed you in a moment when wrath had clouded your reason, the poor Mameluke would have been beaten nearly to death for a fault of which he was innocent. What would then have been said of my father’s justice and humanity? Now that all has terminated so happily, ought you not rather to thank Hassan than to blame him?”

“I will thank him,” said her father, “for you speak truly; he deserves it. But methinks you plead his cause with great earnestness, Amina.” As he said these last words he looked fixedly at his daughter, who cast down her eyes, deeply blushing.

“My father,” she replied timidly and with suppressed emotion, “you know our proverb, ‘El-rghàib ma lehu nàib’ [The absent has no advocate], and I have often heard from you that it is right to defend those who are absent and who are unjustly blamed. You have yourself spoken to me of the zeal, the courage, and good qualities of this Hassan, and I therefore felt sure that it was from his devotion to you, and not from insolence, that he spoke to you at a moment when your mind was not your own, and thus prevented you from doing that which would have cost you after-pain, in the experience of our saying, ‘Precipitation is from Satan, but patience is the key of contentment.’ You are not angry with me, are you, father?”

“Who could be angry with you, light of my eyes and treasure of my heart?” exclaimed the old Pasha, kissing her forehead. “No, my child; yet you know not what sufferings my mind has undergone. When one of those fits of fury is upon me, if any one opposes or remonstrates with me, I become mad. Hassan’s speech, though true, drove me to the extreme of madness and to the verge of murder.” Here his voice became husky with emotion. “Yes, Amina, I rushed at him with a drawn dagger; he never stirred, but opened his breast to me. I was in the act of striking when I met his large dark eye fixed upon me, not in fear, not in anger, but in love—yes, Amina, it was a look he might have fixed upon his mother, if he had one, poor youth! It conquered me! for the last thing that I remember was, that I passed the weapon purposely beyond his shoulder; but how he must hate—how he must despise me now!”

Amina’s tears gushed from between the fair fingers that vainly strove to hide them. That her father should have been on the verge of murdering the idol of her heart,—that he, in the pride of youth and strength, should have bared his breast to the dagger rather than raise an arm against her father,—these thoughts produced contending emotions of horror and tenderness sufficient to overpower her self-control, and she wept without interruption, for Delì Pasha himself was much overcome by the feelings which he had just expressed.

At length she looked up, smiling through her tears, and said, “Father, if he is brave and generous as you say, he will not hate you. Tell him frankly the truth—that in a moment when your mind was overclouded by anger you did him injustice—and he will love you, and you will love him, better than before.”

“Inshallah! dear little prophetess, it shall be as you say, and, Inshallah! this shall have been the last time that men shall say of Delì Pasha that his passion blinded his eyes and overcame his reason.”

Here we may add that the future confirmed the strength of his resolution. The mental shock which had followed this last outbreak was never forgotten. When, a few days later, he left the harem, his first act was to send for Hassan and to make the frank _amende_ suggested by Amina. He read in the young man’s glowing eyes, as he kissed his lord’s hand with an eagerness and devotion such as he had never before exhibited, the truth of her prophecy that he should find himself not hated or despised, but better loved than ever.

Little Kasem was reinstated in favour, and it need not be said that his gratitude to Hassan was unbounded: neither will it excite surprise that the influence of the latter in the household had been much increased by the scene which they had so lately witnessed; for never before had they seen any one successfully venture to brave the wrath of their proverbially irascible chief.

Hassan spent the few days which yet remained before the migration of the whole family to Siout in making the few arrangements which he had for some time proposed. He sent off the eight horses taken from the Sammalous, with a respectfully affectionate letter, to his foster-father, accompanied by fitting presents to his foster-mother and sister; he wrote also a grateful letter to his former patron, the Hadji Ismael, in Alexandria, and another to his old friend the chief clerk. He went then with Ahmed Aga to the village in Karioonbiah, armed with the Pasha’s authority to appoint another _nazir_ and Sheik-el-Beled in the place of the two scoundrels who had been detected and dismissed. When they had made the best selection in their power, and arranged the village accounts, they turned their horses’ heads again towards Cairo, Ahmed Aga saying as they mounted—

“I suppose now we have made two more rogues, for the saying in the country is, ‘If you want to find a match for the priest and the _câdi_, you must go to the _nazir_ and the Sheik-el-Beled.’”

“I am glad that they omitted the _khaznadâr_ in the proverb,” said Hassan, laughing.

“The _khaznadâr_ and the _mirakhor_,” replied his friend, “are bad enough in general, but, as the Arabs say, they are ‘tied by a shorter rope,’ and cannot eat so much of their neighbours’ corn.”

It was during the long ride from the village back to the city that Hassan related, in confidence to his friend, some of the details of his early life—the name that he had borne in his youth, and the mystery in which his birth was still involved.

“It is very strange,” said Ahmed, who had mused in silence after Hassan had finished his narrative. “I have lived in Cairo now many years, and have known or heard the history of many families, high and low, yet I cannot recall any occurrence similar to what you relate; neither can I understand how it has come to pass that neither of your parents has ever made inquiries after you among the Arabs in the neighbourhood.”

“That is easily explained,” said Hassan. “My father, who was probably a soldier, may have been killed in battle, and my mother may never have seen him since he carried me off an infant, probably to save my life: if so, she may never have heard of my having been given into the charge of a Bedouin woman.”

Hassan spoke these words in a tone so sad that to cheer him his friend replied, “Inshallah! this knot will one day be untied by the Revealer of Secrets,[93] whatever be the secret. I will swear by my life that your father was a brave man and your mother a good woman; for you know the proverb, ‘Grapes are not borne by the thistle-bush.’ Meanwhile, you must comfort yourself by remembering the saying of the Persian sheik and poet [Sâdi], ‘On the Day of Judgment Allah will not ask you who was your father, but who are you, and what deeds have you done.’”

Conversing on this and other topics, the friends concluded their journey, and were just re-entering Boulak about sunset, when, in passing a narrow by-street at right angles to that in which they were riding, Hassan saw at a little distance a figure in which, by the dress and gait, he at once recognised the old woman who had inveigled him into the house of the Khanum. Springing off his horse and giving it over to the _sàis_, he requested Ahmed Aga to continue his way homeward with the servants, promising to rejoin him shortly. Following the old woman until she reached a part of the street where not a passenger was to be seen, he quickened his step, and overtaking her, seized her by the arm and said to her in a stern voice—

“Mother of evil, tell me at once who urged you to take me to that house?”

The crone, trusting to the concealment of her thick veil, endeavoured at first to persuade him that he was mistaken in the person whom he addressed, but her voice only made him more sure than he had been before: then she tried sundry kinds of subterfuges and falsehoods, until his patience being exhausted, he exclaimed—

“Wallah! unless you tell me the truth, and that instantly, I will drag you straight to the Kiahia Pasha, and tell your story to him: you well know that in a few hours you will find yourself at the bottom of the Nile.”

Under the terror of this threat she confessed that it was by Ferraj, the servant of Osman Bey, that she had been induced to address him and to introduce him to the house in question.

“Osman Bey!” said Hassan bitterly. “Well, I am his debtor; meanwhile do you, if you value your life, hold your peace and begone. I owe you no illwill. Wretched instrument of malice,” he muttered to himself as he strode homeward, “thou art beneath my notice. What says our proverb, ‘The anger of the arrow-stricken man is kindled not against the bow but against the archer.’ Osman Bey, we shall meet again, and, Inshallah! with some weapon in our hands better than a jereed.”

Little did Hassan know, when he breathed this wish, how soon it would be realised, and what an influence that meeting would have on his after-destinies. When we see in life how often the blessings that we pray for become, when granted, sources of misfortune, and the events which we dread and deprecate result in our happiness, it seems an act of folly, if not of impiety, to pray for earthly goods in any other form than that of “Not my will, but thine be done.”

* * * * *

Most of our _dramatis personæ_ are now to be separated for a season. The Thorpe family having finished their examination of the Pyramids, had re-embarked on the Nile for Upper Egypt, and Delì Pasha’s preparations for the journey to Siout were just completed. He himself, with his official secretary, pipe-bearers, and the greater part of his household, were embarked on board of a large dahabiah; a second of similar dimensions, the cabin-windows of which were provided with damask curtains within and venetian blinds without, was allotted to his harem, with their eunuch attendants, and was ordered to remain always immediately in the wake of the first; while Hassan and Ahmed, with a score of armed followers, were to perform the journey along the banks of the river on horseback, and to bivouac as a guard every night at whatever place the boats might be made fast at sunset.[94]

All was ready for departure, and the harem was already embarked, when an officer from the Viceroy came to Delì Pasha and told him that his Highness wished him to remain a few days to attend a council on some matters of importance. “He knows,” added the officer, “that you are on the point of departure, and part of your family already embarked, wherefore he desires that you will not take the trouble to detain them, but let them go leisurely on their journey, retaining two or three servants to attend upon you. When the council is over, his Highness will give you a swift _canjah_ of his own, which will bring you to Siout as soon as your large heavy dahabiahs.”

“On my head be it,” replied Delì Pasha. And having retained only a few Mamelukes for the service of his wardrobe and chibouq, he desired his own boats to go forward as originally designed, placing the _kateb-es-serr_, or chief secretary (a quiet, respectable, and elderly Turk), in charge of the leading dahabiah, and in command of those whom she contained. To Ahmed Aga and Hassan he said, “I know that I can trust my boats and harem to your vigilance at night; there are many thieves in Upper Egypt, so you must not indulge in more than a hare’s sleep.”[95]

Under these instructions the dahabiahs started on their voyage northward, and pursued it without accident or interruption until they reached a point of the river not more than twenty miles below Siout. Night was coming on, a strong gale of wind from the eastward had set in, which, in spite of all the exertions of the pilots and sailors, drove the dahabiahs against the west bank of the Nile, where the current was running with terrific violence, and the waves dashed over the low sides of the boats.

Fearful of being carried down by the stream, the _ràises_ ordered the men to jump out ashore and make fast the boats with the anchors, and also by ropes passed round sharp staves driven into the ground. With the leading boat the manœuvre succeeded, and she was brought to in a bight of the bank, where she was in comparatively smooth and sheltered water; but the boat containing the harem broke from her moorings, and in spite of all the exertions of her crew hauling on her from the shore, she was carried some way along the rough and jagged bank, thereby scraping off her cabin paint and terrifying the timid inmates.

Suddenly she came against some broken timbers of an old disused _sakìah_ or water-wheel, which smashed in all the cabin windows on the land side, shivering in pieces the Venetian blinds and tearing the damask curtains in shreds. Immediately all was panic on board the boat, and the affrighted eunuchs and women, thinking that the cabin would be flooded, rushed on to the upper deck, which was entirely deserted by the crew, who were busily employed forward in endeavouring to bring the boat to. All were pulling, and hauling, and shouting, and ordering; but no one was listening or obeying. The consequence was that their exertions, without direction or unity, were fruitless, and the boat continued to drift down, still grating her sides against the high and jagged bank.

Among the affrighted women assembled on what we may call the poop, Amina and her faithful Fatimeh had withdrawn quite to the stern of the boat, the place usually occupied by the steersman, where the former sat herself down on a hen-coop and looked out in terror on the dark and turbid waters, when suddenly the tiller, which had been left unsecured, swept across the deck with such force that it threw Amina and her hen-coop overboard, at the same time knocking down and stunning Fatimeh Khanum, who fell against the low railing that surrounds the poop.

At the time Hassan and Ahmed Aga were some hundred yards astern of the boats, followed by their own men and by a dozen fellahs whom they had brought from the nearest village as night-watchers. Hearing the shouts and cries ahead, they conjectured that some accident had happened, though they could not see any distant object, as the dusk of evening was darkened by a gloomy sky and the dust borne on the wings of the angry blast. Suddenly a faint cry from the water reached the ear of Hassan, and turning his eyes in the direction whence it came, he thought he descried something like drapery hurried along by the current about fifty yards from the shore.

Quick as thought he sprang from his horse, cast his cloak on the ground, threw his pistols on it, and crying to Ahmed, “Wallah! there is a woman or child drowning,” plunged head-foremost into the dark and boiling waters.

Ahmed Aga, who had seen no object in the water and heard no cry, thought that his young friend must be mad. Nevertheless, he could not help admiring the daring gallantry which prompted him to brave the roaring rushing waters on such a night with the hope of rescuing a fellow-creature, but he had no time left for musing, for the cries and shouts continued to rise from the dahabiah, and his duty bade him hasten thither without delay.

Ordering one of his men to secure Hassan’s horse, cloak, and pistols, he went forward, and by the aid of his own presence of mind, and the force that he brought with him, succeeded at last in securing the dahabiah to the bank. It was not until order was somewhat restored, and the eunuchs went up on the poop to reconduct the ladies and women slaves to the cabin, that they found Fatimeh Khanum lying half-stunned, and her head still confused by the blow from the tiller. Amina was nowhere to be found. The cries and confusion thence ensuing can be more easily imagined than described.

To return to Hassan. No sooner did he rise to the surface from his plunge than he swam down the stream with all his might, looking on both sides, and calling aloud as he went. For some time his humane endeavours met with no success, but at length, in answer to his call, a faint cry caught his ear. Striking out in that direction, he came up with a hen-coop made of palm-sticks, and over it he could distinguish female drapery.

“Take courage! take courage! I am here to help,” he shouted aloud; and as he neared the hen-coop he heard his own name faintly uttered.

Who can paint the tumultuous rush of feelings as he recognised the voice of his idolised Amina—feelings compared to the moral force and impetuosity of which the rushing and turbid waters of the Nile were calm as a mill-pond. Terror, pity, joy, love,—all were poured into the thrilling tone in which he called aloud her name. “Fear not, my beloved,” he continued; “you are now safe. Your arm over the hen-coop; your chin resting on your arm, my love. Hold fast to it, and do not speak; keep your sweet mouth shut, or these rough and angry waters might choke you. Thus, my love; my arm is close to you, so you have nothing to fear; I will guide the hen-coop towards the bank.”

The tender and cheering tone in which he spoke as he swam beside her giving her these instructions, placing her hand himself on the centre and most buoyant part of the hen-coop, inspired the courageous girl with hope and confidence. Hitherto she had clung to her frail cage-support with the grasp of despair, and more than once the cold, and the water that had forced its way into her lips, eyes, and nostrils, had almost compelled her to let go her hold. But now she felt herself possessed of new life, and such was her confidence in Hassan’s skill, courage, and devotion, she felt that with him beside her, whether in mid-ocean or mid-desert, she could know no fear. At the worst, to die in his arms would be bliss far beyond life without him. She now proved her own high courage by obeying implicitly his directions without uttering a word.

Hassan had noted in his evening ride that for some miles below the bank which he had left was high and precipitous; he well knew, therefore, that the opposite bank would be shelving, and the current less strong.[96] This consideration compelled him to push the hen-coop before him to the opposite bank, the first object being to get Amina out of the water as soon as possible. This he accordingly did, though, much to her surprise, he kept talking loudly all the time, splashing and making as much noise as he could with hands and feet.[97]

He thus succeeded in bringing his fair charge safely ashore, and opposite the point where he landed he descried a faintly-glimmering light, like that of a nearly extinguished fire. His first care was to wring the water from her drenched clothes, then casting off his own jacket and wringing it, he threw it over her shoulders to shelter her from the cold and biting wind.

Seeing that she was too much exhausted to walk, he lifted her gently in his arms and carried her towards the dim light. On reaching it he found that it proceeded from the dying embers of a fire which had been made in front of a small hut such as are often constructed in Egypt by shepherds or fishermen for temporary shelter. It was unoccupied, though he surmised that the tenant could not be far distant, as he perceived in one corner of it a striped blanket (such as is used by the fellahs in winter), and on it the owner’s _nabout_ or cudgel.

“El-hamdu-lillah! Praise be to Allah!” said he, as he possessed himself of these invaluable treasures; and in another moment he had wrapped Amina from head to foot in the blanket, and laid her gently in the corner of the hut.

Then he ventured to ask her how she felt.

“Faint and very cold, dear Hassan,” was the gently murmured reply; for, notwithstanding her delicate nurture, the brave girl’s spirit had sustained her so long as the danger endured, but now the reaction had come, and with it exhaustion, which seemed to deprive her of all bodily and mental energy.

“Patience,” whispered Hassan; “this blanket will soon make you warm. Meantime I will see if there be wood or dry weeds to restore this dead fire.” With the staff in hand he went round and round the hut, but his search was fruitless. He lay down, and, putting his ear to the ground, thought he could distinguish some sound: he crept quietly up to the top of a bank at a distance from the water, and could descry, about a mile inland, a large fire and some tents.

“Dry clothes and some warm drink she must have,” he said to himself, “and there is no time to lose. I know not what men these may be, but the risk must be incurred.” He felt his girdle, and to his great joy found that his dagger was safe in its place: he then returned to the hut and asked Amina if she felt herself sufficiently recovered to go to some tents and a fire not far off.

“Let me die here,” she murmured; “you have saved me from those cold and rushing waters. Let me go to sleep here, Hassan, while you sing to me. Sleep, sleep.”

Hassan saw that her mind was overpowered by exhaustion, but he so much feared the effect of the wet clothing on her delicately nurtured frame that he decided to reach the fire with as little delay as possible.

“Light of my eyes!” he said, sitting down beside her, “Hassan lives only to serve you, and were it safe I would sing you to sleep and watch at your door while you rest, but danger and pain would follow, unless you can reach the warmth of the fire.”

“Where is the fire?” said Amina, trying to shake off the lethargy that threatened to overpower all her faculties.

“It is not far,” he replied; “if you will come, I will soon carry you there, and you can sleep as you go.”

“I will do whatever you say,” murmured the exhausted girl, whose ideas were still so confused that she knew not what she said. “Let us go to Boulak, and there you shall sing to me, and I will not tell anybody except Fatimeh how I love you; but do not let us go into that cold water again.”

Sweet to Hassan’s ear were some of these words, though spoken in half-unconsciousness; but his first thought now being to convey Amina to the fire, he grasped the staff in his hand, and carefully wrapping the blanket around her so that nothing but her face was exposed to the night-air, he lifted her gently in his arms.

The motion, together with the warmth of the blanket, restored her scattered senses, and also the circulation of her young blood, which had been chilled by long immersion in the water. Who shall tell what were her sensations as she found herself thus tenderly borne along by her devoted lover, or what were those of Hassan when, from the position of her head, he felt her warm breath upon his glowing cheek? When Hassan arrived within three or four hundred yards of the fire he could perceive that it was in the midst of an Arab encampment, containing at least a dozen tents.

As he had passed over the tract near the river, which was overgrown with _khalfah_ (brushwood and rushes), and had reached an open tract of smooth ground, he knew that his approach would ere long be descried, and judged that, to prevent being mistaken for a lurking enemy, his wisest course would be to make it known by calling aloud. Having gently lowered Amina’s feet to the ground, and in reply to his inquiry having ascertained that she was sufficiently recovered to walk, he readjusted the blanket so as to cover her head and leave her the use of her feet.

“Honoured and beloved, light of my eyes,” he whispered, “Allah knows whether we shall find friends or enemies in these Arabs: at all events, their watch-dogs are likely to be troublesome. I will try to move these men by words of friendship, but if they prove thieves and treacherous, we must trust to Allah. Do you remain close behind me, and leave me the free use of my arms.” (As he said this he grasped the cudgel in his right and the dagger in his left hand.) “Before they shall offer you insult or injury, they must tear me limb from limb,” he added. “It will perhaps be safer and better if among these people you pass for my—sister.”

A blush came over her face, for she knew that another and dearer name had rushed to his lips and been checked in utterance.

“Hassan,” she said, looking up into his eyes with the full confidence of a first and guileless affection, “to you I owe my life and all that makes life dear; how then can I refuse to do your bidding? for I swear by the memory of my sainted mother, on whose ashes be peace, that never did sister love a brother as——” Here she hesitated, fearful that she had said too much. How she would have finished the sentence we know not, for Hassan, stooping fondly over the sweet upturned face, now lighted by a moonbeam that struggled through the angry, flitting clouds, caught on his trembling lips the murmured confession that was denied to his ear. It was the first kiss of mutual love, and wet and cold and danger were awhile forgotten. Gently withdrawing herself from his fond embrace, she added, “Hassan, in dealing with the people of these tents, be they bad or good, curb your daring courage, and be cautious of your life for my sake.”

“Blessed treasure of my heart, I will do as you desire: I will be patient and gentle as a lamb with them unless they offer you insult, and then—— But no; if they are Arabs[98] they will respect the law of hospitality.”

So saying, he advanced from the shade of the copse directly towards the tents. Scarcely had they proceeded one hundred yards when, as he had expected, the watch-dogs began to bark, and two or three dusky figures were seen to move about near the fire: continuing his progress steadily until he came within hail, he shouted aloud at the full pitch of his powerful voice, “Brother Arabs, strangers in distress demand hospitality.”

The encampment was now all astir; dogs rushed out, followed by their masters armed with spears. Hassan again repeated the same shout, and the men were seen driving back the dogs and advancing to meet him. To the first who came up he said—

“Brothers, we have seen trouble; my sister has fallen into the Nile and is half-perished with cold; if you have a sheik or chief, bring me before him.”

With the brief reply of “You are welcome,” they conducted him and his timid companion to the largest tent of the encampment, before which the well-fed fire was blazing: the owner came forth to meet his guest, when at the same instant the words “Abou-Hamedi” and “Hassan” broke from their respective lips. It was the Damanhour Arab, formerly rescued by Hassan, on whose encampment he had thus unexpectedly fallen, and, to the astonishment of Amina the Arab’s wife and sister rushed out of their tent and crowded round her lover, kissing his hand and calling him brother and preserver.

A few words sufficed to explain the condition of Hassan and Amina, and in a few minutes the latter was in the recesses of the harem-tent, covered with dry clothes, rubbed until she was in a glow of warmth, and drinking a bowl of hot fresh milk sweetened with honey. Hassan fared no less hospitably with his host, and they related to each other their adventures over a pipe and coffee.

Whilst Hassan warmed himself by the fire he exchanged a recital of adventures with Abou-Hamedi. Those of the latter were not of a character to raise him in the estimation of the citizens of a civilised state, although they were far from being degrading in the eyes of an Arab, for he had become a leading member of a band of freebooters who had lately exercised their vocation with no little success in the province of Siout.

They were mostly Arabs from the interior of the Tunis and Tripoli deserts, who, having performed the pilgrimage to Mecca by way of Keneh and Cosseir, left the caravan on its return and levied blackmail on the villages of the left banks of the river in Upper Egypt. In order to avoid suspicion, Abou-Hamedi had located his family, and a few others of the Gemàat tribe who had accompanied him from Damanhour, on the spot where they were now encamped, on the right or eastern bank of the river, where they cultivated a small tract of ground, and passed for industrious, inoffensive people, as indeed they were, with the exception of Abou-Hamedi himself, whose notions of _meum_ and _tuum_ were somewhat indistinct, and who had “exchanged horses,” as he termed it, with a rich merchant of Siout. This exchange had been effected by the simple presentation of a pistol at the head of the latter in an unfrequented spot; and although Abou-Hamedi had obtained a fleet and powerful horse in exchange for a sorry, broken-down nag, he was so ill-satisfied with the bargain that he had politely compelled the Siout merchant to throw in his purse as compensation.

All this he detailed with imperturbable gravity to Hassan, adding that he and his companions always carried on their plundering expeditions on the other side of the river, so that his encampment was undisturbed and unsuspected. The band met at certain intervals and by preconcerted signals; when he joined them it was by night; and among his talents one of the most remarkable was his power of disguising himself in such a manner that the roving freebooter of the left bank and the peaceable fellah of the right were never suspected to be one and the same person.

Hassan was much amused by his adventures, and was pleased to find that in the rough breast of his lawless host there existed towards himself a feeling of gratitude and devotion that he had not expected to find: the latter even pulled a leathern purse from his girdle and proposed to repay a portion of the money advanced by Hassan for his liberation; but to this he would not consent, saying, with a smile, “Not now, my brother; I promised you that when I required it I would ask you for it. You have a family, and I have none; keep the money, therefore, until I ask you for it. Let us now talk of other things. Do you know whose are those two boats which lately passed?”

“Well do I know,” replied the Arab. “They are the dahabiahs of the new Governor of Siout, Delì Pasha.”

“True,” replied Hassan, “and I am in his service. My sister, now in your tents, is in the Pasha’s harem: she fell overboard in the storm, and they must think her drowned. As they must all be now searching, and weeping and wailing, is it possible to convey her to the dahabiah to-night, or must I go to inform them of her being safe here?”

“It is quite possible,” said Abou-Hamedi, “if she be not too feeble and tired from having been so long in the water: we have several donkeys here with saddles, and there is a good path to the ferry just above the place where the boats are made fast for the night.”

By Hassan’s desire the Arab’s wife was then called, and desired to inquire whether Amina felt herself sufficiently recovered to ride to the ferry. An affirmative answer being eagerly returned, the donkeys were soon caught and saddled, and the party ready for departure.

“I will not go with you myself,” said Abou-Hamedi aside to Hassan. “It is better that none of the Governor’s people should see my face.”

“I understand,” replied Hassan, laughing; “and if I meet you in Siout, I will take care not to know you; but as my sister is young, and unaccustomed to the presence of men, I wish you could let one of your harem go with her to the boats.”

The wife and sister of Abou-Hamedi had anticipated the wish. No service that they could render seemed to them sufficient to repay their obligation to Hassan; and the extraordinary beauty of Amina, together with the gentle gratitude which she had shown for their attentions, had so won their affections that they determined not to leave her until they had seen her safely deposited in the harem. They now appeared at the door of their tent ready for their night journey, Amina clad from head to foot in the warmest clothes they possessed, her own wet suit wrapped in a bundle and intrusted to one of the three young Arabs selected to guide the party to the ferry, while one ran on before to rouse up the ferryman and to get ready his boat. The easiest-paced donkey was assigned to Amina, and Hassan walked beside her, his arm ever ready to support her in case of the animal stumbling over the dimly-seen bushes or earth-clods that might obstruct the path.

What a delicious hour for the lovers. Amina, now warmly clad and free from all alarm, recalled to mind the brief and thrilling moments in which she had exchanged with Hassan the confession of their mutual love; and as they spoke together in Turkish, which none of the party but themselves understood, they renewed the same sweet confession in a thousand forms of tenderness, such as love alone can invent, and in which love alone finds no satiety.

“I am very jealous,” said Amina, while the little hand that trustfully reposed in his belied her words. “Do you know, Hassan, that these Arab women, both of whom are young, and one of them very comely, have done nothing but talk to me of my brother’s amiability and generosity? They say that their service, their lives, all that they have, are at your disposal. When and how did you steal away their hearts, Hassan?”

“Perhaps they told you,” he replied, “of a service which I rendered to the family, and their gratitude overrates its extent. They have kind hearts, I believe, and this is the custom of kind hearts. Look at yourself, sweet light of my eyes; you have filled my lonely heart with a joy it never knew before—you have quenched its burning thirst; from the Keswer of your love you have turned the night of my destiny into the sunshine of noon; you have bestowed on a humble _aga_, of unknown birth, who has nought but his truth and his sword, a treasure which the highest and the wealthiest in the land would be proud to solicit; and yet it is scarce an hour since you, teller of sweet untruths, said that you were my debtor.”

“Is life and all that makes it dear no debt, Hassan?” replied Amina.

“If you will have it so,” said Hassan, smiling, “you shall be my debtor, as the earth is debtor to the showery cloud, and repays it with a thousand fruits and flowers delicious to the taste. Yet, sweet light of my eyes, forget not that again our separation is at hand: at Siout you will be shut up in the harem, offers of marriage from the great and the rich will be made to your father, he will urge you to consent—how can you resist his will?”

“Hassan,” replied Amina, with a firmness and solemnity of which he had scarcely thought her capable, “I love my father, and it would grieve me to disobey him, but Allah is greater than he. I have sworn, and I repeat the vow, by your mother’s head, that neither force nor entreaty shall induce me to marry another. If destiny forbids our union, I can die.”

“Allah forbid!” said Hassan, pressing her hand to his lips. “Destiny will not be so cruel. But tell me, as it seems to me necessary to my life that I should sometimes see your blessed face, even if it be for a moment and afar off—tell me, do you know the cry of the wit-wat?”[99]

“I believe not,” said Amina, laughing. “Why do you ask?”

Turning aside his head for a moment, he imitated the cry of the bird so exactly that the most experienced fowler would have thought that a curlew had just passed by.

“Be it my task,” he said, “to find out the window of your apartment. When you hear that cry after sunset you will know that your wit-wat is watching below it for a glance from those loved eyes, or a word from that tongue which is more musical than ‘the bird of a thousand songs.’”[100]

Thus discoursing they reached the ferry, and crossed it without accident. On approaching the spot on the opposite bank where the dahabiahs had come-to for the night, they could see by the number of moving lights and figures on the bank that all the party was still astir and in unwonted agitation. One of the Arab youths who had accompanied our hero and his fair charge ran forward at full speed until he reached the boats, where he shouted at the top of his voice, “The Khanum is safe; Hassan has drawn her out of the river. They are coming.”

The news spread with the rapidity of lightning. Men and women, masters and servants, all crowded forward to greet the advancing party; and Amina, on dismounting from her donkey, found herself in the arms of her beloved Fatimeh, who had been nearly deprived of reason by the supposed loss of her young mistress, whom she loved like a daughter.

The Arab women who accompanied her, and whose kind and hospitable attentions to her wants she explained, were taken into the harem cabin and so loaded with kisses, caresses, and presents that they began to think that Amina must be a daughter of Mohammed Ali himself, that her recovery should be attended with such extraordinary and generous demonstrations; nor were the Arabs without entertained with less hospitable warmth.

As for Hassan, the eunuchs of the harem crowded round him to kiss his hand, and the tears of the faithful creatures bore testimony to the attachment which they felt towards their young mistress, whose life he had saved. Neither on board nor on the bank was there any thought of sleep that night. The tale of Amina’s miraculous escape was repeated from mouth to mouth, with a score of variations and exaggerations, by groups assembled around blazing fires on the bank, while interminable pipes and coffee beguiled the hours of night.

Hassan contrived ere long to withdraw from these wonder-loving circles to a spot where he was able to enjoy in quiet the hearty congratulations of Ahmed Aga, and one or two others of his intimate companions.

On the following morning the Arab party returned to their encampment, loaded with presents forced upon them by the generosity of the Pasha’s major-domo and the ladies of the harem, while the dahabiahs pursued their course without accident or interruption to Siout.

The official residence assigned to the Governor was a large and tolerably convenient house, which had been built not many years before by order of Ibrahim Pasha, at the northern extremity of the town. The front looked upon an open square or _meidàn_, where the troops were paraded; while the back, occupied by the harem, was surrounded by gardens in which orange, lemon, and pomegranate trees flourished in considerable abundance.

Love, though proverbially blind to danger and to consequences, is quick-sighted and quick-witted. Thus not many days had elapsed ere the cry of the wit-wat was heard under one of the windows that looked upon the garden; the casement was cautiously half-opened, and the lovers enjoyed a few moments of stolen conversation, which, for fear of being overheard, they carried on chiefly by signs and glances, or as the Arab distich has it—

“Walls have ears, and rivals are ever on the watch. Our tongues were silent; but our eyes mutually spoke, and were understood.”

Notwithstanding these precautions, it unfortunately happened that one evening a gardener, who had remained beyond the usual hours of labour, saw Hassan spring over the wall at the bottom of the garden. Impelled by curiosity, he watched our hero’s movements, heard his signal, and saw a window in the harem half-opened, partially disclosing a woman’s form, to whom Hassan addressed a few words in an impassioned undertone.

No sooner was the casement reclosed and Hassan had retired from the garden than the gardener emerged from his hiding-place, and, in the anticipation of a good reward, hastened to communicate what he had seen to Ferraj, the confidential servant of Osman Bey, the deputy-governor, with whom he, the gardener, happened to be acquainted.

Ferraj being the unworthy pander to his master’s passions in sensuality as in revenge, and who instinctively knew the hatred which he bore to Hassan, hastened to impart to his chief the information he had received. A grim smile passed over the features of Osman Bey. He had already heard of Amina’s rescue by the devoted courage of Hassan, and easily divined the object which led him to the garden. He anticipated, therefore, the double satisfaction of punishing a man whom he hated for an infraction of the sanctity of the harem, and of wounding by publicity the tenderest feelings of Delì Pasha, whom he both feared and disliked.

“Take with you,” he said, “three stout fellows and conceal yourselves in the garden after sunset, according to the directions given you by the gardener; repeat this every evening until you find this insolent harem-breaker. Have with you a large cloak and some cord; while he is looking up at the window throw the cloak over him and bind him fast, for the fellow is strong and active as a wild ox,[101] and might otherwise escape. When you have got him, bring him straightway before me.”

These instructions were only too punctually executed, and two or three evenings after, just as Hassan had reached the spot from which he gave his accustomed signal, and was watching for the opening of the casement, a large blanket was thrown over his head from behind, and, before he could extricate his limbs from its folds, he was thrown to the ground and bound hand and foot. In this condition he was carried before Osman Bey, who, in order to make his crime as public as possible, summoned Ahmed Aga and all the chief officers of Delì Pasha’s household to attend the investigation.

The news spread like wildfire throughout the palace and the neighbouring houses, so that in less than an hour the Bey’s divan was crowded with wondering spectators. Investigation was scarcely required, for the evidence was clear; the culprit had been taken in the forbidden precincts. The gardener swore to the fact of the casement having been twice opened, and that a woman appearing there had held communication with the prisoner; while the eunuchs of the harem, when interrogated, could not deny that the casement in question belonged to the Lady Amina’s private apartment.

Osman Bey, cloaking his revengeful hatred towards Hassan under a semblance of zeal for the Pasha’s honour, ordered a pair of iron manacles to be fixed on the prisoner’s wrists, and then having caused the cords and blanket in which he had been bound to be removed, ordered him to stand up and state what he had to say in his defence.

Hassan, drawing himself proudly up to his full height, and darting on Osman Bey a glance of withering scorn, replied in a loud voice, “Delì Pasha is father of the lady and Governor of the province; for him I reserve what I have to say: to you I shall give no reply.”

“Take him to the guard-house prison,” cried Osman Bey in a fury; “we will see if that insolent tongue will not find another kind of speech to-morrow. Let four soldiers with loaded pistols attend him to prison and watch at the door: if he escapes, their lives shall answer for it.”