He also unties the scarf that binds her hands, and she now stands before him with her face veiled. He gently removes the cuffei from her head. Her large black eyes glance around the wide space, and she sees the tent that looks exactly like her father's. She turns her eyes on Mohammed with a loving glance. He draws her to his heart.

"Are you still resolved, Butheita, that he only shall kiss you who leads you to his tent as his wife. And will you only allow him to kiss you at the door of the tent?"

"I am still so resolved!" she exclaims, but in joyous tones. "I am still so resolved!"

Mohammed lifts her in his arms and carries her to the tent.

"Butheita, this is my tent! I lead you into it as my wife. Butheita, may I now kiss you?"

She makes no answer, but, with a loud cry, throws herself upon his breast, and kisses him passionately. Mohammed encircles Butheita with his arms, and bears her into his tent.

CHAPTER XVII

CONCLUSION.

THE citadel presents a scene of great animation; its apartments, especially those in which the viceroy's eons are to reside, are richly adorned and hung with flowers. All the doors are thrown open, and a number of richly-attired female slaves are standing in the hall at the head of the grand stairway which is covered with costly carpets from Damascus.

The citadel has put on festive attire in honor of the wife and sons of the viceroy Mohammed Ali, who are expected to arrive to-day.

The people are repairing in vast numbers to Boulak on the shore of the Nile, where the viceroy is to receive his family, and it is whispered among them that she who has resided in the palace of the Esbekieh is not his first, but a second wife. No one has seen her, but very beautiful she must be, else her husband would not guard her so closely. No one has seen her, but a woman certainly dwells there in the harem; its windows are lighted up at night, and eunuchs stand guard outside; veiled slaves have also been seen going in and out of the palace. Yes, the harem has an occupant, but it is only the second wife who lives there; the first is to arrive to-day with her sons from Alexandria!

The people repair in vast numbers to Boulak, to be present at the reunion of the family of their viceroy, who has already made himself beloved by his subjects. He throws money among the poor when he drives through Cairo. He is just, and punishes the guilty with perfect impartiality, the fellah and courtier alike.

Mohammed, accompanied by his officers, has ridden down to Boulak, where two landings have been prepared, and richly adorned with carpets, flowers, and overhanging silken awnings. Here, at the landing where the viceroy and his generals are waiting, will the sons, and at the other, where the women stand, will the wife arrive.

The viceroy, erect in his stirrups, looks down the river, and he is the first to discover the red flags that appear above the horizon.

The sight of the father is keener than that of the curious. A smile lights up his countenance, and he turns to Hassan, who stands beside him. "They are coming, Hassan; my sons are coming!"

"Yes, they are coming! The princes are coming!" cry the people. The splendid vessel approaches nearer and nearer; the flags flutter gayly in the sunshine; and now Mohammed sees the three figures, standing on the deck, waving white handkerchiefs in their outstretched hands. These are his sons. How changed the three boys seem to the father! These are no longer boys, they are now youths.

It is, however, not strange that they have altered in appearance; great changes take place in five years.

The vessel lands, and his sons spring quickly to the shore. The viceroy, Mohammed Ali, had determined to make the meeting a theatrical spectacle for the people. The people love such spectacles, and they were to be permitted to look into the sanctuary of his domestic life as through a glass door. Such had been his purpose. But at the moment, all this is forgotten, and it is not the viceroy, dismounting in a stately manner from his horse to receive his sons, his first servants; it is only the father who springs with a single bound from his saddle, encircles his three sons in one embrace, presses them to his heart, and kisses them tenderly.

The people shout with delight, "Long live our viceroy and the princes!" The guns of the citadel thunder forth a greeting, and announce to the people that the viceroy no longer rules alone, but that his sons now rule with him. The welfare of the land is assured, for the existence of the ruling house is assured.

The young princes mount the horses held in readiness for them, and ride into the city bide their father. The thunder of the cannon resounds continuously, shout after shout rends the air, the band of the regiment of soldiers that had been drawn up at the landing to receive the princes, joins in the acclaim with merry strains of music, and the regiment falls into line, and marches behind the viceroy and his suite. Dense masses of people, Turks and Armenians, Copts and Jews, Arabs and fellahs, throng the streets through which they pass. On the imposing procession moves toward the citadel.

At the same time a splendid debahieh has landed at the second place; it is the wife of Mohammed Ali, who stands on the deck. No soldiers, and in fact no men, await her on the shore. A wide space about the landing is kept free by the eunuchs, who drive the curious back with threatening gestures. Hundreds of women stand on either side of the landing-place in long rows, their heads enveloped in long white veils that fall down over the splendid dresses glittering with silver embroidery.

Mohammed has commanded that all the women of Cairo should go down to Boulak to meet his wife Ada, and obey they must, they well know, for he is certain to punish disobedience to his commands. They were also to tender her presents upon their arrival at the palace.

She stands on the deck, gazing around with indifference at the spectacle before her. She is looking for him only--for her husband.

But he is nowhere to be seen. He does not receive her. It would probably not become the great ruler to welcome his wife before the world. No one must perceive that the viceroy is also a husband, a man!

Yes, she has already heard of this: the heart must not be laid bare to the world, for the world ridicules it.

This is why Mohammed is not there. She draws her veil more closely about her, and, conducted by the eunuchs, descends slowly the stairway, strewed with flowers, to the landing-place, where the women press forward to greet her.

"Welcome, Sitta Ada! Blessed be your coming! Allah's blessings upon you, Sitta Ada!"

Hundreds of voices repeat the words. She is glad to escape these noisy greetings by entering the gilded coach that now drives up to the landing-place. The equipage moves on slowly, followed by the procession of women who are to accompany her to the citadel.

It is well that the curtains are drawn over the windows of the carriage, and that no one can see the tears that burst from Sitta Ada's eyes, or hear the sighs that escape her breast.

"Oh that I had remained in Cavalla! This cold splendor alarms me!

Would that Mohammed had received me quietly, pressed me to his heart and said, 'Welcome, Ada--welcome to my heart and home!"

Is she welcome? He rejoices in his sons, now growing up to manhood and soon to accompany him to battle and become heroes. In his joy over his sons, he has forgotten the wife who is now approaching the citadel with her brilliant suite. He is first reminded of her presence by the thunder of the guns that announce her arrival at the citadel. The reception must, however, be completed. He has arranged every thing with the master of ceremonies, who is to conduct his queen into the grand audience-chamber to the throne that stands on a scaffold under a purple canopy.

Ada's heart trembles as she approaches it, and her thoughts are with the house in Cavalla. Oh that Mohammed Ali had returned to live with her there! "Departed are all the sweets of domestic happiness for poor Ada!" a voice whispers in her heart.

The women now come forward, four at a time, and with loud congratulations lay the presents at her feet, the golden dishes, the jewelled buckles, the gold-inworked cloths, and every thing that delights the heart of woman. With kindly words Ada thanks them for their gifts, hardly realizing what they are. She thanks Allah when the affair is concluded, and the master of ceremonies approaches, and with a deferential bearing requests her to descend from the throne, and walk to the door that leads to the inner apartments. It alarms her to walk between the long rows of women who bow low as she passes. But behind the door are the private apartments, and there she will be alone. This thought cheers her as she walks on unconscious that a number of female slaves are following her to the private apartments. Those who fill such exalted stations as that of the wife of the Viceroy of Egypt, know no solitude, not even in their private apartments. The slaves now gather around her, fall on their knees, and swear to serve her faithfully, and her first maid asks if her gracious mistress will now retire to the toilet-chamber to change her dress. She dares not refuse, and allows herself to be conducted thither, where the most splendid garments lie in readiness for her. She makes no selection, but permits her women to dress her as they think proper. This is at last concluded, and one of them now announces that she may enter the private apartments, where his highness the viceroy is to receive her.

Her heart throbs wildly, like the heart of a young girl, as she enters the apartment. At the entrance she stands still, timidly.

Alas! he is not yet there--the room is empty. The viceroy makes no haste to greet his wife.

The door now opens, and Mohammed Ali enters.

Ah! she would hardly have recognized him; to her he seems quite changed. His countenance is so radiant, his bearing so proud, so splendid his gold-embroidered uniform, so gracious the smile with which he advances to meet her, so gracious the manner in which he extends his hand and smiles on her.--Ada is conscious that it is the viceroy, the good friend, who stands before her; but the husband it is not.

"Welcome, dear Ada!" he says, in kindly tones. Ah! she is familiar with these loveless tones. "Welcome, dear Ada; I rejoice heartily to see you again after this long separation."

She takes his hand, presses it in her own, and looks at him earnestly.

"Yes, after so long a separation; do you know how long we have been separated? Do you feel it in your heart?"

"I well know bow long, Ada. We have been separated five years," he replies, with a kindly smile. "You see five years have effected great changes."

"Yes," murmurs she, releasing his hand. "They have brought about great changes. I see it, Mohammed."

"But, dear Ada, my heart and my affection for you are unchanged," he says, gently. "I shall ever honor you, Ada, as my first wife, as the mother of my first-born sons. Yes, as my first wife."

She bows her head. She understands the tone with which Mohammed had pronounced that fearful word. Yes, she understands it, and bows her head in humility. And what would opposition avail her? The law of the prophet allows the man to have several wives. Love is fleeting, and its ardor soon passes away after marriage. Friendship is the successor of love, and men say this is happiness.

The women sigh, and bow their heads in silence.

What would it avail Ada to rise in arms against Mohammed's words, "My first wife"?

"Yes, Ada, you will ever remain my first wife, the honored mother of my sons. You will ever remain my friend."

Yes, that was the word. She closes her eyes and shudders.

"'Tis well. Your friend, Mohammed! I will not, however, honor you as my friend, but as my lord, and as the man I have loved alone and best on earth!"