The wounded bowed their heads, and looked at him almost compassionately.

"It is well that there are men who can still be deceived, who still have faith in the word and honor of men. We will trust them no more, and will have vengeance for this deed of treachery, bloody vengeance on him who is about to enter our holy city as king. Our curse accompany him to the holy mosque, and, wherever he may go, may it rest beside him on his couch in the citadel! Cairo, the holy, the beloved, is ours. We will fight him who calls himself viceroy, and contend with him for every inch of land. And you, brave Englishmen, will help us in our struggle, will you not?"

Lord Hutchinson shook his head.

"No, Osman Bey Bardissi! God be praised, we are about to leave here!

my king and my duty call me away, and I am pleased that it is so.

Continue your conflict with the Turks, and I confess I wish you success in your struggle. I am glad that I shall no longer be compelled to breathe this air, polluted with treachery! Your rescue is my last act here. Now, let us go and see whether any of you are missing. They shall bring you all here; I swear it by my king; I will have you all, and not one shall be withheld!"

Three of the number who had gone out in the boats in the morning were missing.

"These three must be brought here!"

This was the import of Lord Hutchinson's message to the capitan pacha; and the latter, all complacency and obedience, now that the bloody work was done, sent out divers to look for the dead in the sea. They were recovered, and humbly deposited at the feet of the Englishman.

While Lord Hutchinson and Sitta Nefysseh returned with the wounded to Alexandria, where the wives of the disabled and dead Mamelukes were weeping and lamenting, Mohammed Ali returned to the ship. The soldiers were nearly all disembarked; silence reigned in the ship, and its blood-stained deck alone bore evidence of the murderous deed that had been done.

Mohammed caused these stains to be hastily removed; he well knew that these traces of bloody treachery would be viewed by the delicate and sensitive Osman with horror.

He then went down into the cabin to his friend. Osman received him with outstretched arms, gazing at him sadly but tenderly.

"I have done as you requested, Mohammed, and have not left my cabin, though alarmed by the cries and tumult above me. I knew my Mohammed had bloody work to do. I was sorry for you, and yet I knew that you could not prevent it."

"No, I could not prevent it," said Mohammed, gloomily; "and yet, Osman, my soul shudders when I think of it. I have received to-day the baptism of my new existence, and it is no longer the Mohammed you loved who stands before you. I have to-day been compelled to lend a helping hand to treachery, but it was Allah's will, and the soldier must obey his superior's commands. I obeyed, Osman, nothing more. The curse of this evil deed does not fall on me. Though my hand is blood-stained, it is yet innocent."

"You have undergone a fearful baptism," murmured Osman, shuddering.

"I read it in your pale countenance, my Mohammed--a fearful baptism.

You must, however, march on boldly in your career. Do you now understand why Osman was so anxious to accept the position of captain of the troops? Do you now understand why I took this step, and do you now comprehend my love and friendship, Mohammed?"

"I understand it all, and I bless you, my Osman, creator of my new existence! I thank you, Osman; and when after long years the fame of your Mohammed's deeds shall reach your ear, when my mother's dream is fulfilled, and I am crowned and seated on a throne that stands on the summit of a palace, then remember, my Osman, that you are the creator of my fortune, and that Mohammed Ali blesses his friend with every breath. I swear eternal love and friendship for you, my Osman, and I swear, too, that the thought of you shall make me mild and humane toward my enemies."

"Even when you stand before your enemy, Cousrouf Pacha, Mohammed?"

asked Osman.

"Why do you name him at such a time? " murmured Mohammed, with a slight shudder. "Do you know that I am to be sent to him? The capitan pacha perhaps observed, by my manner and voice, that I also do not love Cousrouf Pacha, whom he hates; he warmly recommends me to him, and I am to go to him to serve him."

"And will you enter his service?" asked Osman.

"I will do so," replied Mohammed; "and I have sworn that I will serve the Viceroy of Egypt as my heart prompts."

Both were still for a while, and seemed disinclined to break the silence.

"You will serve him as your heart prompts," said Osman, in a low voice. "In this case, do you think Cousrouf Pacha will long remain great and mighty in Cairo?"

Mohammed smiled faintly.

"Osman, I am almost disposed to be afraid of you. Your question tells me that you read my most secret thoughts. Let your question remain unanswered for the present. I will communicate with you from time to time, Osman, and send you loving messages, you may rest assured. I have one request to make still: when you return home to Cavalla, greet the wife that you gave me, and also greet and kiss my children. And then, Osman, if you are able, go down to the cliffs, take up a stone from the shore and throw it into the sea, and when the circles form around the place where it went down, and the waves curl upon the shore, say this: 'Mohammed greets you, Masa, and he begins the work of holy vengeance! Rest quietly in your grave, Masa; Mohammed Ali is keeping watch for you and for himself; the work of vengeance is begun!'"

CHAPTER VIII

THE VICEROY OF EGYPT.

To-day all Cairo is in a state of joyous excitement. The days of want and care have passed--who now remembers the terrors of yesterday? Who still remembers the days when the Frank ruled here, when the terrible general made the people bow their heads beneath the yoke? Yes, on this same square of the Esbekieh, have they lain in the dust before the mighty general who stood before them a giant, though small in stature. Who still thinks of the misery and disgrace of those days? Forgotten! all forgotten! Two years are a long period for the remembrance of a people; and two years have passed since Bonaparte departed, and more than a year has elapsed since the last of the Franks withdrew from Egypt.

"All hail the new viceroy sent us by our master in Stamboul! he will make us happy, and relieve us of the unending struggles of the Mameluke beys! Long live Cousrouf Pacha, our new viceroy!"

These cries rend the air as the surging crowds make their way toward Boulak, from which place Cousrouf Pacha is to make his grand entrance into the holy city. All the authorities have assembled there to participate in the celebration; there are the ulemas in their long caftans, and the sheiks in their green robes, the crescent embroidered on their turbans in token of their dignity; there are also the generals of the Turkish and English regiments, the latter only remaining in Cairo to take part in the festivities of the viceroy's entrance. And now the new ruler approaches in his splendor. The Nile, broad as it is at Boulak, is nevertheless covered with boats, in which the viceroy is approaching with his numerous and glittering suite. He stands on the deck of a large boat, surrounded by a group of distinguished Turks and Englishmen; all the consuls of the friendly powers are with him, and this seems to the shouting populace a guarantee of returning peace.

The boat is brought alongside the bridge of boats that connects Boulak with the opposite shore. As Cousrouf Pacha now steps out upon the bridge covered with costly carpets and strewed with flowers, thousands of voices from both shores hail the viceroy as their deliverer with shouts of joy. The pacha bows a kindly greeting in every direction, and then casts a glance toward the horizon, where, in the purple distance, the pyramids stand out, sharply defined against the sky. He bows his head still more profoundly, and remembers that he is now the successor of the great Pharaohs who erected these monuments to themselves.

"I, too, will erect such a monument. After thousands of years the world shall still speak of me--of the Viceroy, perhaps of the King, of Egypt."

Such are his thoughts as be walks across the bridge to the carriage of state in which he is to make his entrance. The ulemas receive him. "Long live the ambassador of the prophet! Long live the blessed of Allah!" resound from the lips of the thousands assembled upon the shore and in the streets of the city.

How radiant is Cousrouf Pacha's countenance! How little the viceroy of to-day resembles the exiled pacha of the past, during his weary sojourn in Cavalla, with nothing to enliven him but his little struggle with the boy Mohammed and his harem! A land is now at his feet. Onward the procession moves through the crowds that throng the streets; they have now turned into the Muskj Street--the beautiful street, the pride of the inhabitants, with its old-fashioned, lofty houses. Onward the procession moves toward the citadel. There, in the beautiful palace, will the viceroy be enthroned. "Long live our new ruler! Long live our viceroy!" These are the cries that greet him throughout his entire march to the citadel; and these cries still rend the air long after Cousrouf Pacha has entered the palace, at whose gates he had been received by the grand dignitaries of the land. He greeted them all in brief but kindly terms, and then retired to the private apartments of his palace.

He now reclines on his cushions, thinking of his past and of his future. A glad smile lights up his countenance. The way was long and weary, but its obstacles have now been overcome. Once he was a slave, but he had sworn to struggle for a great aim. He has kept his oath. Here he is the first, the ruler. Who knows but he may yet completely cast off the burden of dependence, and become absolutely free? Every thing rests on the acquisition of good and faithful friends and servants, and he will acquire such. It is so easy for the great to acquire friends! Is not the capitan pacha his friend?

Does he not owe all that he is to him? He has elevated him from the dust, and made him commander of the army with which he has come over from Turkey. Yes, he is a true and devoted friend, and he will easily find others. His power will become great--great as all Egypt.

He rises, calls one of the Nubian slaves, and bids him show him the way to the walls of the citadel.

The slave opens a secret door that leads into a narrow passage and upon the outer wall of the citadel. Motioning to the slave to remain in the passage, Cousrouf steps out, and then stands still, astonished at the splendid spectacle that lies before him. Spread out at his feet lies the holy Mazr, with all its minarets and towers. Farther on lies a whole city of cupolas--these are the graves of the caliphs; they rear their heads proudly aloft in the sunlight, congratulating the new ruler on his magnificence; but also reminding him of the perishable nature of all earthly glory--the saying of a certain wise man "Thou first and mightiest of mortals, be thankful that thou art alive!"

"I thank thee, Allah, that I am alive, and I bow down in humility before thee!" murmurs Cousrouf, reverently. He then again looks out with delight upon the landscape that lies before him. There, in a wide curve, winds the river Nile like a silver ribbon, innumerable decorated boats and barks dancing upon its surface. Here all is life and animation, beyond the Nile reigns a solemn stillness; for a certain distance from the river bank stand stately palm-trees, and then suddenly, sharply defined beside the green fields, begins the yellow sand. That is the desert--that is the mysterious theatre of so many adventures throughout the ages, the receptacle of so much hidden wealth, the great burying-ground of the unknown dead. There, on the horizon, where the yellow sand and the blue sky meet, stand the pyramids of Gheezeh, and farther on, in the purple distance, the pyramids of Sakkara.

"A world lies at my feet, and I am the ruler of this world. I have attained my aim," says he to himself. "All is fulfilled; but one thing is left to wish for. O Allah, grant me still many years in which to enjoy this magnificence!"

Once more he glances around at the beautiful landscape before him, and then, conducted by the slave, returns to his private apartments.

He lies on his cushions, listening to the shouts of the delighted multitude without.

Suddenly the curtain that covers the doorway is noiselessly withdrawn, and a slave announces that a messenger from the capitan pacha, accompanied by a bim bashi, stands in the antechamber, awaiting his pleasure.

"What is the messenger's name?" asks Cousrouf, wearily.

"Hassan Aga, master, bim bashi of the capitan pacha."

"And his favorite," murmurs Cousrouf to himself. "Let Hassan Aga enter."

At the slave's call the messenger enters, bows his head to the ground, and hands his master's letter to the viceroy.

"Do you know its contents?" asks Cousrouf, slowly opening the letter.

"Yes, highness. It is a farewell letter from my master, who leaves to-morrow for Stamboul."

For an instant a smile glides over Cousrouf's countenance; but then it assumes a sad expression. "The capitan pacha is about to depart-- to leave me."