Yes, he was certainly happy in his family; three sons had been born to him, and he often went out upon the sea with them, and taught them, in their boats, to command the waves; he also taught them to handle the gun, and other manly accomplishments. But he never took the boys to that part of the shore where the entrance to the cave lay; and the foot of man has never entered it again! The fissure in the rocks has disappeared, covered with stones.

No one saw Mohammed go to this spot on the evening be fore his marriage with Ada. No one saw him, as with the strength of a giant he rolled huge stones to the opening, and piled them up before the grotto. Nor did any one see him, before he had done this, enter the grotto with bowed head and folded arms, as though approaching the holy mosque. Nor did the ear of man hear the groans and lamentations that escaped his breast as he lay thereon; the spot upon which the light of the moon and stars of heaven shone down through the opening above. There he lay, one entire night, and a whole world of suffering lay on his soul throughout that night. He wished, during those fearful hours, to rend from his heart the remembrance of all the anguish and all the bliss associated with that place in the past. Did he succeed? Who knows, who can tell?

All things pass away, and time heals all wounds.

Mohammed is a wealthy merchant, the husband of a charming, lovely woman, and the father of three strong, handsome boys, who look out boldly and defiantly into the world with their dark eyes, the picture of their father in earlier days.

How would Sitta Khadra rejoice could she see these boys!

Would she also rejoice if she could see her son gravely and silently attending to his duties, speaking with the men who come to see him, of tobacco, of good harvests, of future prospects, and of the success already achieved in his business?

Of other matters Mohammed never speaks, not even to his friend Lion, who often comes to see him. When Mohammed needs advice at times in his affairs, he seeks it of him; he listens smilingly when Lion tells him of what is going on in the world; and, without letting Mohammed perceive it, attentively observes him, endeavoring to read, in his grave, tranquil countenance, whether new feelings are awakening in his soul, whether the young merchant has really buried the former ambition of the youth.

But he detects nothing in that tranquil face; ambition sleeps, the love of glory is dead within him. This is Lion's opinion, and the opinion of all. But it is not the opinion of Osman, who understands him best. He has sometimes seen Mohammed's face lighten when the conversation was of the struggles going on in Egypt, or when the Turkish fleet was spoken of that had gone over to chastise the rebellious Mameluke beys! He had seen a deathly pallor overspread Mohammed's face when on a recent occasion a merchant, who came from Stamboul, reported that the grand-vizier had sent a great pacha to Egypt, one who had been banished, the now so mighty Cousrouf Pacha, the favorite of the grand-admiral. Yes, Osman had observed his change of countenance at the mention of this name, and that he secretly clinched his fists and grasped the hilt of his dagger; and he alone knew that, though Mohammed's wrath found no utterance, it still lived within him.

Mohammed had suddenly turned away on this occasion, on some suddenly-conceived pretext, and had not been seen again that day.

He had gone alone to the summit of the rock, and Osman alone knew that the dark speck which he saw on the crest of Bucephalus was the figure of his friend who had sought this solitude for the purpose, perhaps, of easing his heart of its anguish and to enjoy the holy festival of remembrance, up there alone with God and Nature!

CHAPTER III

THE BIM BASHI.

Mohammed's countenance was graver and paler than usual when he came down from Bucephalus. But it seemed that his heart had there received milder and softer impressions. He spoke to his wife in more gentle and cordial tones; and instead of repairing, as was his custom, to a coffee-house, where merchants assembled and exchanged their views and opinions, smoked the chibouque together, and discussed the news received from foreign countries, he remained at home in the family circle. At his request, Osman had come to pass the evening with them, for Mohammed well knew that this was the young man's only happiness. These ten years did not benefit Osman's health; he was still the withered stalk that bows its head, but is not torn down by the wind, but only swayed to and fro by it at its pleasure.

Yes, Osman was weak, and firm and constant in one thing only, in his love for his friend.

With him this feeling took the place of all else; Mohammed was to Osman what the latter was to his father--his only joy in life! And for these two Osman sustained himself, bore his ill health and suffering, and let the sunlight shine upon, and the storms of life sweep over him.

Osman understood why Mohammed was so kind and genial to-day. He knew that the day had its significance, and that the wound bled within secretly and incessantly. In silence Mohammed is praying for forgiveness, for having on this day permitted his thoughts to wander back to the past, for having sunk down in sadness upon the spot on the brow of the rock that had once witnessed his happiness; and he desires to be mild and gentle to his family this evening. His wife Ada is thankful and very happy. Mohammed so rarely laughs and jests with her, so rarely plays with the boys! To be sure he has never grieved her, has always been kind and gentle, and has never opposed her wishes. But yet she knows she has no share in his inmost heart.

He talks with her of the daily affairs of life, he allows her to participate in all such matters, but he never speaks to her of his heart's inmost thoughts, and whether he suffers and longs to leave these desolate cliffs, or whether he is discontented with the monotonous, matter-of-fact life he is leading--she knows not!

Mohammed has never complained to her, neither has he to his friend.

But the latter has read his friend's heart, and understands it better than Mohammed himself. And a day was soon to come which proved this.

A message came from Stamboul. A large ship arrived at Cavalla, and her sailors related that a number of ships still larger and handsomer had arrived in the Bay of Sta. Marmara. The ship put out a boat, which came to the shore and landed a richly-attired officer who went up to Cavalla. He repaired to the palace and delivered a letter, secured with magnificent seals, to the tschorbadji. The letter was from Cousrouf Pacha to his host of former years. He had not been heard from since that time, and the tschorbadji had supposed himself long since forgotten. He was familiar with the ways of the great, whose lips are ever ready to utter promises, which are forgotten, the next hour. Ten years have elapsed, and but rarely have Cousrouf Pacha, his new grandeur, and the great things the future had in store for him, been heard of in Cavalla. And now a letter announces that Cousrouf Pacha still remembers, and gladly remembers, former days.

"The Sublime Porte has determined," so read the pacha's letter to the governor, "the Sublime Porte has determined to oppose the French occupation of Egypt with energy. The rich land of Egypt belongs to the Sublime Porte, and without any color of right France takes possession of it as its own property."

Yes, the republic of France had done this, had landed at Alexandria with large armies, and had inundated almost the whole of Egypt with its soldiers. But the Mameluke Beys, who have so long considered themselves the masters of the country, had taken the field and fought the invaders. In Stamboul, also, they had long been preparing for war, and now that all preparations were made, and an army ready to take the field against the French, each province, yes, each village of the empire, was to furnish its quota of soldiers in addition. Messengers had been sent out to every city and village in the empire to call on the young men in the name of the grand-sultan to flock to the flag to defend Egypt.

Cavalla was also to furnish its quota, and the pacha's instructions were, that the governor should with all speed uniform three hundred young men, and send them to him.

Cousrouf Pacha had, however, also written, "That the governor may see in what glad remembrance I hold the past, and that I am grateful, I request that his son Osman be placed at their head as captain, and come with them. And," continued the pacha, "as his lieutenant, young Mohammed Ali, if still living, may be serviceable.

However, I suppose that his own violence and passion have consumed this young man, as he persistently labored at his own destruction.

If this, how ever, is not the case, and his extraordinary strength of constitution has preserved him, the youth must have become a strong man, and we need such men for our army."

The governor informed Mohammed and his son of what the pacha had written. He requested Mohammed to assist him in recruiting and equipping the men, and Mohammed willingly gave his assistance. He repaired to Praousta and the neighboring places and assisted in the work. He soothed the displeasure of the men called on to take the field, spoke of the heroic deeds they could perform, and of the beautiful land to which they were to go, so distant from the quiet, desolate Praousta.

And in a few days the three hundred men were ready to embark. But how was it with regard to the captain and his lieutenant? Osman had reserved his decision for the last day, and Mohammed seemed to have entirely forgotten that he was selected as the captain's lieutenant.

He had not spoken of it during these days; Cousrouf's mention of him seemed to have made no impression on him, and his attention appeared to have been directed wholly to the equipment of the soldiers. Now that all was in readiness, Osman sent his friend word to come to him, as he wished to converse with him on a matter of grave importance. Mohammed willingly acceded to this request and repaired at once to the garden-house, where, since the days of his childhood, a couch had at all times stood in readiness for the governor's poor, sickly son, and seated himself at his side, as he was in the habit of doing.

"You wished to see me about something, Osman. What is it?"

"What is it?" said Osman, with his softest smile, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder and regarding him fixedly. "Well, I should think you ought to know. Try to divine it!"

Mohammed slowly shook his head. "By Allah, I am ignorant what it is, Osman!"

"Well," said the latter, smiling, "I wish to speak of our departure with the troops."

"What do you mean by that?"

"What do I mean? The pacha, Cousrouf, has appointed me captain of the three hundred soldiers, and you my lieutenant."

"He has done so, to be sure, but we of course decline the appointment," said Mohammed, shrugging his shoulders.

"And why?" asked Osman, with an expression of profound astonishment.

"Why? Well, my Osman, you surely cannot think of--"

"I understand you," said Osman, nodding his head; "you mean I cannot think of accepting any such position as it would beseem a man of my rank to hold. But I feel myself in better health; it seems as though the thought of such a possibility had given me new strength and energy. Who knows, perhaps, the luxurious, effeminate life I have always led is the great cause of my ill-health and weakness; a new or adventurous life may do me good. It is often said that the greater part of disease is mere imagination. If one shakes this off, he shakes his disease off with it. Therefore, I have decided to try this remedy myself. After full consideration, I have concluded to accept the position of captain of our troops."

"You are really in earnest!" exclaimed Mohammed, springing to his feet in alarm. "You will actually take this position of captain, go to the war, and leave as!"

"Leave us? " repeated Osman. "No, we two, of course, remain together, my friend. You go with me. You are selected as my lieutenant. You know Cousrouf Pacha added words of praise and acknowledgment for you, too."

Mohammed's eye glittered for a moment, but he looked down quickly.

"Yes, he did this, and his conduct is very noble and generous, for he well knows that I do not love him, and that I was once his enemy."

"Once," repeated Osman, closely regarding his friend. "But that was a long while ago, and we have done with the dreams of our youth long since, have we not, Mohammed? What then was, has passed away. He no longer thinks of the childlike defiance you displayed toward him, the great pacha; and the sorrow and suffering he caused you are long since forgotten."

"Yes," replied Mohammed, in low tones, "yes, it is forgotten. All sorrow and suffering are over. You are right. All things pass away, and time heals all wounds-mine, too. They are healed. Cousrouf has forgotten the boy's defiance, as you say, and you observe that what I have suffered at his hands is also forgotten. But I shall not leave this place-I may not."

"You may and you shall," said Osman, and there was a more earnest and manly ring in his voice than Mohammed had ever before heard. "Do you not suppose, my boy, my beloved, my second self--do you not suppose that I read your soul, and know what is smouldering and lamenting in your inmost heart? Mohammed, I believe you do not wish to understand yourself. You have enveloped your heart in a veil which you do not wish to rend asunder, even before your own vision.

But I, my Mohammed, can see through this covering, and know your heart's most secret thoughts. Be still--say nothing yet. First consider, and then give me a reply. Your Osman accepts the position, and it seems to me it would become his friend Mohammed to go with him where laurels, glory, and magnificence, are awaiting you. Look at me, my friend; look at the poor, frail body for which you are so necessary a support, and let us be silent about all the rest for the present. Yet do not forget that Osman loves you, and is ready to make any sacrifice for you. Say nothing now, Mohammed, but reflect on what I have said. And if you love me, and think you owe me your love, and wish to prove your friendship for me, accept the proffered position, and go out with me into the world. Go, and reflect about it, Mohammed, and, when you have decided, come to me with your answer."

Mohammed left the garden as his friend had asked him, the words "you must go with me where laurels, glory, and magnificence await you,"

resounding in his heart. He hears them everywhere, at home with his wife, in the midst of his family. And then the voice of reason would in its turn make itself heard: "You should not abandon the woman who rescued you from death, and has given you comfort, wealth, and position. You should not abandon the children, whom you are called on to instruct and protect."

"No, I ought not to go," he repeated to himself, as he sat down beside Ada, and called his children to him. "No, I must remain here."

And yet, again and again, Osman's words come back to him.

He could not bear to chat with his lips, while such voices were speaking in his heart. He must leave the house, seek solitude, and consult with his own thoughts. He made some pretence of pressing business requiring his attention, and went out into the street. He started to walk rapidly toward the spot on the rock, where he had so often sought solitude and consolation. Suddenly he felt a hand laid on his shoulder, he turned and saw the old Sheik of Praousta, the successor of Masa's father, who gave him a kindly greeting.