The Mamelukes now throw open the gates, and with uplifted swords, ready for the conflict, sally forth from the court-yard.

The soldiers who have surrounded the palace see with wonder the gates open, Bardissi and his followers as they rush forth, the heavily-laden dromedaries, and the carriages filled with women. The conflict begins, a fierce conflict, the musketry rattles, and carries death into the ranks of both.

Erect on his war-horse Bardissi leads the van. He fights his way through, his sword mows down the enemy like the scythe of death.

Youssouf, his faithful kachef, rides beside him. Like Bardissi, he fights like a lion, and hews with his trusty sword a pathway through the enemy's ranks. But suddenly a well-aimed ball strikes him, he reels in his saddle, and falls with a low moan to the earth, while Bardissi and his men press on.

He succeeds in fighting his way out of the city. Onward the whole train flies toward Gheezeh.

Bardissi is wounded; his right hand bleeds, and blood is streaming down his cheeks. Bardissi is wounded, yet he lives, and is saved. On they press, and now they are no longer followed.

The soldiers have still much to do in Cairo. Let Bardissi flee with his richly-laden dromedaries; let him depart from Cairo with his Mamelukes; but let him return no more.

He draws rein now that the city is behind him; he looks back, and a tear trickles down his cheek and mingles with his blood.

For whom was this tear?

He looks back toward Cairo, and murmurs: "O Mohammed, that you have betrayed me; this is bitter!"

He then turns his horse and they proceed in their flight.--Yes, there is still much work to be done in Cairo. It is not only Bardissi who has to be fought and driven out; there is Ismail, the chief of all the Mamelukes, and all the other beys. All this lordly game is to be chased and driven to bay to-day, and then there are rich spoils to be gathered. Bardissi has hardly quitted his house when the soldiers rush into it, and begin to plunder and destroy after a fashion that can hardly be surpassed by the Mamelukes themselves. The soldiers intend to pay themselves for that which Bardissi owes them.

And they do pay themselves. Bardissi possesses not only this but other houses in Cairo, and the soldiers plunder them all, leaving nothing behind but the bare walls.

They then fall upon Ismail Bey; but he, too, succeeds in cutting his way through the enemy. With him escape almost all the Mameluke beys with their followers. They flee far out of Cairo, into the open country.

At Gheezeh, on the verge of the desert, the Mamelukes lay encamped on the following day, and there the beys were assembled around their hero, Bardissi, in a sad consultation.

True, they are safe, yet they feel that their rule in Cairo is at an end, to be restored no more.

"At an end is the rule of the Mamelukes!" cries the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, triumphantly. In the night he sends out messengers requesting the cadis and sheiks to come to him, as he has important intelligence to communicate, and a firman sent to him by the grand- sultan to read to them. The cadis and sheiks hasten to obey his call.

In Mohammed's apartment they find Courschid Pacha'a chief secretary, who reads the grand-sultan's firman to them in a loud voice.

The firman appointed Courschid Pacha Viceroy of Egypt and Governor of Cairo, and commanded all the authorities to obey and serve with humility and devotion the representative of their grand master, who would arrive in Cairo on the following day, to take possession of the fortress and receive the oaths of the officials.

The cadis and sheiks express themselves ready to obey the new governor in all things, and express the hope that with his highness's entrance into Cairo a new era of peace may dawn for their bleeding land.

They then withdraw to proclaim what has taken place to the people at the mosque on the following morning, and to exhort them to be peaceful and obedient.

Mohammed, however, repaired to the citadel, accompanied by a bim bashi and two servants, who lead two asses that seemed to be equipped for a journey. On arriving at the citadel, Mohammed left the others in the court-yard, and ascended alone to the apartment where Cousrouf was confined. He was asleep when Mohammed entered. He stood still on the threshold for a moment, gazing at his prisoner.

"Wake up, Cousrouf! wake up, thou Viceroy of Egypt, wake up!"

Cousrouf starts and stares at him.

"What is it? Who calls me?"

"Your devoted servant, the sarechsme by your grace, Mohammed Ali, calls you."

"I know by your voice that you have come to kill me!" cried Cousrouf, springing to his feet.

Mohammed slowly shook his head.

"Had I desired your death, you would long since have stood before Allah's throne, to render an account of your crimes. No, Cousrouf, I have not come to kill you, but to read to you a message from the grand-sultan at Stamboul."

Cousrouf bowed his head.

"You mean my condemnation. Were it an acknowledgment of my right and a restoration to authority, Mohammed Ali would not have come to announce it. Read!"

The sarechsme unfolded the paper, and read in a loud voice the firman which deposed Cousrouf from the office of viceroy.

"For he has performed its duties badly, and not proved worthy of our favor. He has been vanquished by rebels, and has sought safety in flight, instead of dying in the fulfilment of his duty. Humiliated and disgraced, he has been brought a prisoner to the palace in which he once ruled. Cousrouf is entirely unworthy of the honors conferred on him, and is hereby deposed from his office and dignities, and forbidden ever to present himself before the grand-sultan, or to show himself at Stamboul in the holy empire of the grand-sultan. He is banished and exiled from the empire, and his name must never be mentioned in the hearing of the grand-sultan. He is to be conveyed to the fort built on the island of Imbro, there to remain until he dies. Such are the commands of the grand-sultan, his gracious master."

When Mohammed finishes reading, profound silence ensues. Cousrouf utters no word in reply. He stands there, motionless, pale as a corpse, staring at Mohammed. He seems to be still listening to the words he has heard, to the fearful announcement of his fall and disgrace.

"To Imbro you go," said Mohammed Ali, after a pause. "Do you remember Imbro?"

No word comes from Cousrouf's pale lips; he slowly shakes his head.

"Imbro is a little island, opposite Cavalla, and for the selection of this place you are indebted to me, Cousrouf. Do you know why I selected it? From the windows of your prison you can see Cavalla, the bay, and the Ear of Bucephalus. From there you can see the sea and the coast, can see the place where on that night the poor boy lay on the shore, also the place where Masa sank beneath the waves.

You shall see this place, Cousrouf. I know your gaze will often turn in that direction, and I know you will think of me when you look at the coast, Cousrouf. Your life shall be an everlasting remorse. This is my revenge, Cousrouf. Throughout the remainder of your life your recollections shall torment you, and you shall gaze upon the place where Masa died, and where you made of the innocent boy a hard- hearted man. At Imbro you shall live, Cousrouf, and I shall take care that you sometimes hear of me there, and learn what has become of the boy who lay stretched out on the shore, his heart torn with anguish, while you caused that which he held dearest on earth to be sunk in the cold grave of the waves. This is our last meeting, yet you shall often hear of me, and this I tell you in advance: Cousrouf Pacha, where you stood in your power and magnificence, there shall Mohammed Ali stand. He will, however, be more powerful than you were, and no one shall deal with him as he has dealt with you. No one shall depose him from his place, be assured of this, and remember it in your solitude at Imbro. Bear my greeting to Cavalla, to the yellow shore, and to Masa's deep, blue grave. And now I have nothing more to say to you. I shall send up the bim bashi who is to conduct you to Alexandria, and accompany you on the ship to your home at Imbro. Farewell!"

He turns and hastily leaves the room, without looking again at Cousrouf, who stands there motionless and deathly pale.

On ascending and unlocking the door of Cousrouf's prison, the bim bashi sees him stretched out on the floor, pale and motionless. Is he dead? Has the terrible blow destroyed him?

It were well for Cousrouf if he were dead! But no; he lives! He had only for the moment found relief in insensibility from the consciousness of humiliation and disgrace.

He returns to consciousness, is led down to the court-yard, mounted on his ass, and conducted by the bim bashi and the slaves to Alexandria. From there he is transported in the vessel, that lies in readiness, across the sea to Imbro, to the citadel, from whose windows he can see Cavalla, the water, and the place where he buried Masa beneath the cold, blue waves.

CHAPTER XIII

LOVE UNTO DEATH.

ON the afternoon of this fearful day, all was again restored to quiet in the streets of Cairo. The terror-stricken inhabitants had again ventured forth from their houses, and were standing in groups, discussing in subdued voices the events of the day. But they ceased conversing when they now saw the cadi approaching on horseback, and in advance of him the public crier. In the cadi's name he proclaimed to the people a general amnesty for all past offences: "The new viceroy is to enter the city on the morrow. Let the city put on festive attire, and let a hearty welcome be extended him. Remove from the streets and houses all traces of conflict and bloodshed.

Bury your dead, and care for your wounded, ye wives of the Mameluke beys and the kachefs. Do your duty, ye women and ye servants."

These orders of the cadi were proclaimed throughout the entire city by the crier.

But now the veiled women come out into the streets with their servants, and, in obedience to the prophet's injunctions, seek the wounded and suffering, take them to their houses, and care for them tenderly.

Many of the dead and wounded lie in front of Bardissi's palace--men who had stood faithfully by their master, and fallen bravely in the discharge of duty.

A number of women approach this place. Veiled like the rest is she who precedes the others; yet her royal bearing, and the deference shown her by the servants and Mamelukes who accompany her, proclaim her to be Sitta Nefysseh. She is performing her woman's duty of seeking out and caring for the wounded. She stoops down over the bodies that lie stretched out on the earth, and suddenly a cry escapes her lips--a single cry; she then beckons to the servants, who have followed them with stretchers, for the transport of the unfortunate. She gazes in mute horror at the Mameluke bey who lies there, weltering in his blood, a fearful wound on his forehead, that almost renders his features irrecognizable. She, however, distinguishes her lover, and commands her servants to place him on the stretcher. With her own hands she binds up his wound, and covers his countenance with the white cloths handed her by her women. She then orders her servants to carry the Mameluke bey to her house, and directs her women to continue their search for the wounded.

She walks beside the stretcher on which the wounded man lies. He does not move; he lies there insensible, unconscious of what is taking place.