Sitta Nefysseh murmurs to herself:

"He takes them into his boat in order to deceive them. This is surely to conceal some trickery, and when the boat lands at Alexandria, the capitan pacha will not be with the Mameluke beys."

The Mamelukes have entered the boats joyously, and joyously they sail out over the waves, toward the shores of Alexandria.

The day is beautiful, and the sunshine glitters upon the water; laughter and jesting resound from every boat; but now, when Osman Bardissi begins to sing a warlike song, all are silent and listen attentively. He sings words with which he has often led his hosts out to battle. And the rest, at the end of each verse of the glorious old song, shout exultingly from boat to boat, and unite in the joyous chorus:

"The bey lifts high his sword, and down it sweeps upon his proud foe's head! Down swoops the bey, and raises high in air the severed head, and, when he homeward rides, the head hangs dangling at his saddle's side!"

"A beautiful, a glorious song!" exclaims the capitan, as it is ended, and its last accords resound over the waters.

But what is this? A strong boat is approaching, the admiral's boat of some strange vessel that has probably only just arrived in the harbor. Signals are given in the boat, and a flag is waved. The flag proclaims what the capitan expected. The young boulouk bashi, who stands in the admiral's boat, holds up a folded paper. It is an official letter, the large red seals that hang from it by silken strings show it to be such. The capitan pacha calls the attention of the Mameluke beys to the boat now rapidly approaching.

"Alas, the service leaves one no time, not even a short hour, for recreation and merrymaking. See, here comes another messenger! What can he want? The capitan pacha is, after all, a mere servant. See!

The messenger holds the paper higher and beckons to me. No, he shall not break in upon the joy of our festival with his presence! This beautiful boat shall not be desecrated with business matters! Come closer, and I will get into your boat and read the letter."

"But after you have read it, capitan Pacha," says Osman Bardissi, in a frank, kindly voice, "after you have read it and have disposed of this annoying business matter, you will come back to our boat, will you not? we will wait for you."

"Yes, wait for me! But it may, after all, be necessary for me to return, to attend to some important affairs with my officials, instead of enjoying myself with you. Therefore you had best go on, my friends, and, if Allah permits me to join you in your festivities to-day, I will hoist a signal, and you can stop for me and take me in again." The capitan then steps into the strange boat. The two proud bays see him take the paper from the hands of the stranger boulouk bashi, break the seals, and read it.

With his eagle glance, Osman Bey Bardissi observes that the capitan pacha's countenance becomes gradually clouded as he reads.

"He will not have time to return to us," says Tamboudji Bey, who stands at his side. "It seems that grave intelligence has reached him. Yes, it is so," the boat being rapidly rowed toward the admiral's ship. "But look, Osman Bey! he cries, in alarm, as he raises his arm and points to the departing boat, "look, there are swords in the boat!"

"Yes, I see! Swords, Turkish swords! What are they in there for?"

"That is what I should like to know," replies the other, nervously grasping the pistol in his girdle. "See, a ship is rapidly approaching, and the capitan is steering toward it! But that is not his ship! Where does it come from? What is it doing here?"

The countenance of the Mameluke chieftains is now threatening. They observe the ship, rapidly approaching, with an eagle's glance. They see the capitan ascend its side; they see the portholes filled with glittering muskets.

"Treachery! This is treachery!" cries Bardissi.

And he turns toward the other boats, and cries out to them: "Grasp your swords and prepare to defend yourselves. We are betrayed. The capitan pacha has deceived us, and "--a ball whistling close by his ear at this moment--" to your swords and pistols, my friends; the enemy and treachery are upon us!"

The Turks are rowing rapidly down upon them in their boats, while volleys of musketry are being discharged at them from the ship that is approaching nearer and nearer, following the Turkish troops that man the boats.

"Onward," cries Bardissi to his followers. "Onward! We may escape.

We may, if we make every effort, succeed in reaching Alexandria."

With the speed of the wind the boats sweep onward, and now turn into the bay of Aboukir.

The Mamelukes all cry, "Treachery! treachery!" and every one sees the three Turkish ships bearing down upon them from the front, while the boats and the strange vessel are coming upon them from the rear.

From that direction comes the order, "Fire! fire!"

Death-shrieks resound everywhere among the boats. But the proud Mamelukes are at least resolved to sell their lives dearly. They reply from their boats to the shots. Now the enemy's boats are among them, and a murderous but unequal conflict rages. The three men-of- war send whole volleys into the boats of the Mamelukes.

Of what use to fire their pistols, how can they reload them? Of what avail to draw their swords against the overwhelming foe?

They can only die, and die they must. The flower of the hero-beys was gathered together in these boats, and is now being stamped under foot--is perishing, the victim of infamous treachery.

Sitta Nefysseh looks on in horror from where she lies on the shore of Aboukir. With outstretched arms she implores Allah for mercy, for revenge; and now, as the volleys of artillery resound over the waters, she cries in earnest, piercing tones:

"O Mourad, my husband! thou who art at Allah's side; thou who seest this treachery, implore vengeance upon the enemy!"

Yes, she prays to Allah and the prophet for vengeance. But while she prays, the blood of the Mamelukes is flowing in streams, saturating the costly carpets in the boats, and beginning to color the surrounding water.

A cry of rage resounds from Bardissi's lips. His friend Osman Tamboudji has just been stretched out at his feet by a ball. He has thrown away his pistol, and now grasps the hilt of his dagger, when he is suddenly stricken down by a blow upon the head, dealt from behind. The vessels have completely surrounded the Mamelukes; the Turks on the ships jump down into the boats to assist the others, and the work of slaughter is soon ended. All is now still. Those who are not dead lie severely wounded in the boats. The Turks return to their vessels, and the boulouk bashi orders the wounded to be brought on board.

The order is executed; the dead are left in the boats, and the wounded are carried on board.

They now lift up the wounded man who lies beside the dead bey, in the large boat in which they had first seen the capitan standing with the two beys.

"Bring him up the ladder," cries the boulouk bashi.

He is unconscious, and is bleeding from three wounds. But even in this condition he still grasps his dagger so firmly that it cannot be torn from his band, and as the soldiers attempt it he awakens and opens his eyes.

"You are treacherous scoundrels, all of you! Osman Bey Bardissi declares you to be such."

The boulouk bashi starts as he hears this name, steps forward and gazes long and earnestly at the bey, whom he had once seen as a boy.

Must he meet him now in this condition? His gaze is fixed on him, and he tries to recognize in his features the boy of former days.

"You are scoundrels!" cries, for the second time, the proud chieftain. "Ye slaves of bloody tyranny--ye murderous, treacherous villains--shame and disgrace upon you all! Before Allah's throne will I accuse you, ye treacherous, slavish Turks."

With cries of rage they throw themselves upon him to strangle him.

But an arm burls them back with a giant's strength.

"Do you wish to murder those who can no longer defend themselves?

Back! The life of the wounded, of the vanquished enemy, is sacred."

Bardissi, who has again fallen back exhausted, looks up in astonishment at the stranger who protected him, and was even angry with his own soldiers on his account. How comes it that this traitor's heart is touched?

Mohammed kneels down beside him.

"What is your name?" asks he, in low tones.

"Osman Bey Bardissi," replied the wounded man, and now, exhausted as he was from loss of blood, a proud smile flittered over his handsome countenance. "Not knowing me, you must be a stranger in Egypt,"

added he.

"Yes, I am a stranger in Egypt, and this accounts for my not knowing you. Yet, it seems to me that we once met; were you not once on the shores of the bay of Sta. Marmora?"

"Yes, I was once there!"

"Do you recollect meeting a boy there? You spoke to him of your proud future."

"I remember," murmured the bey.

"And you spoke proud, contemptuous words to this boy. Do you still remember his name?"