He gently encircles her neck with his arm, and impresses a kiss on her forehead. Such a kiss as makes the heart of the woman who loves writhe in anguish.

Now he begins to speak to her, in gay tones, of his handsome, manly sons.

"They shall come to greet their mother; they are waiting in the next room."

He walks hastily to the door, opens it, and the three boys enter, each holding a small package wrapped in paper in his hand.

"What do you bring me, boys!" asks Mohammed, seating himself on a divan, and calling them to his side.

"What do we bring you, father?" says the eldest, Ibrahim. "We have brought you keepsakes from Cavalla, and with them we wish to show you that we have learned something, and have endeavored to imitate you. The merchant, Lion, has often told me how daring a boatman you were, and I determined to learn to manage a boat and defy the treacherous waves, also."

The viceroy regards his son with a radiant smile. The boy's sparkling eyes gladden his heart and inspires it with high hopes.

"I rejoice in you, Ibrahim, and expect you to become a hero," cries Mohammed. "Continue. You were resolved to defy the waves--"

"Yes, father, and I did learn to make the waves obey me, and I became the best boatman in Praousta. I also learned to dive, and no diver could surpass me. To prove what I say, I have brought you this keepsake. I brought it up from the depths of the sea; it was tied up in a bag. I dragged it to the shore and opened it. And what do you suppose it contained, father? Only think, a skeleton! As these were the first things I had taken out of the deep as a diver I have brought you something out of the bag as a keepsake. Here it is, I-- lay it at your feet."

"From the depths of the sea? " repeated the viceroy, with pallid cheeks. "Tell me, Ibrahim, were you diving off the shore of Praousta?"

"Yes, father. You know the shore is steep, and the sea deep, close in to the beach. There I dived and found the bag, with which I swam to the shore. The bag contained bones, and also that which I have brought you."

"A bag that contained a skeleton?" repeated Mohammed, with quivering lips. "And what is it you have brought me?"

"A tress of hair--a tress of long, black hair. It must have been a woman that was cast into the sea in the bag."

Mohammed does not take the package from his son's hand, and Ibrahim lays it at his feet and looks at him with astonishment. He is completely changed; his cheeks are pallid and his eyes dim. Ada also observes this change with dismay, and calls her sons to her side.

Aroused by her voice, Mohammed awakens from his stupor, and waves his hand as if to ward off some spectre.

"And what have you brought me, Ismail?--and you, Toussoun?"

"We have also brought you keepsakes from Cavalla," they reply. "We endeavored to make of ourselves what you were when a boy. We were told that you had been a famous climber, that no rock was too high, and the entrance to no cave too narrow, for you. And we discovered a large cave down by the shore, near Praousta. It was necessary to creep through a long, narrow passage to get into it, and what do you think we found there? It seemed as if people had lived there--there were cushions and all sorts of things scattered around on the floor.

Oh, we often enjoyed ourselves in the cave, singing songs, and eating fruit we had taken there with us. However, when we visited the cave for the last time, we determined, each of us, to bring you a keepsake from it, and here are the things we have brought. I bring you a beautiful little cup I found there."

"And I bring you a piece of cloth--a beautiful gold-embroidered cuffei which I found in the cave. It is very handsome, only there are a few spots, as though blood had dropped on it."

And, like Ibrahim, the two boys also lay the packages they had brought at their father's feet. He sits there for a moment as motionless and pale as a marble statue, and then motions with his hand toward the door. He cannot speak, he only motions to them to leave the room, and the boys hasten to their mother's side in alarm.

Ada takes them by the hand and leaves the room with them.

Mohammed is now alone with his sons' offerings.

He stares down at them for a while, and then takes up the package Ibrahim had laid at his feet.

He tears it open, and there lies Masa's long, black hair. A cry escapes his lips! It is not the viceroy, not the man, who cries out.

It is the death-cry of his first love!

He presses the hair to his lips, and two tears trickle slowly down his cheeks. His gaze fastens on his Masa's hair in a long, painful glance.

He had often kissed these tresses while they clung to her beloved head. He now kisses them for the last time, and then conceals them in his bosom.

He bends down again and takes up the presents of his other sons.

He remembers the cup well. Masa had often drunk out of it.

He kisses the rim of the cup, the place where Masa's crimson lips had touched; he then carefully places it on the cushion beside him.

He now takes up the third present--the gold-embroidered cuffei he had purchased for Masa from the merchant, Lion.

She wore it around her neck for the last time when he pressed her to his heart and took leave of her for a short time, as he thought. She wore it when he left her that night, and when he returned she was gone, and he did not see her again until her death-hour.

He holds the cloth up before him, and sees the dark-red spots-her blood! She had struggled with her captor, and he had injured her shoulder, where the cloth rested, with the point of his dagger! He can tell this by the incision in the cloth where the spots of blood are.

This is Masa's blood, shed for him! He kisses the spot, and binds the cloth around his neck--the cloth she has worn, the cloth inscribed with her blood! A holy remembrance of her, he will never part with it. It shall protect him from the rude wind of the world.

He lays his hand on Masa's tresses again; he looks at the cup, and sits there motionless, absorbed in thought, for a long time.

His whole past rises up before him. He is once more at home, on the rude rock where he spent his youth.

He sees every thing once more; sees, also, the pale face of his Osman, of his dear friend.

He is dead--his sons have told him that Osman is dead.

"It is well for him that he is, he suffered much," he murmurs, in low tones. "I, also, have suffered much. And yet I have also experienced much happiness, and shall probably do so in the future, also," he continues, in louder tones. "Sink down behind me, past!

the future is mine. And now be strong, Mohammed; arise and be a man!

The past is at an end! Masa, you have to-day sent me a greeting through my sons. Farewell! Now I belong to the present and to the future. Farewell!"

He rises, walks with firm footstep through the apartment, and enters the room where Ada and his sons are awaiting him.

"Come, my sons, I will show you my capital, the most beautiful of all cities--I will show you Cairo. Come!"

He takes his sons by the hand, and, alas! he forgets the poor woman who is regarding him tenderly, and down whose cheeks two tears slowly trickle as the door closes behind him.

Mohammed leads his sons through the long suite of splendid apartments, which they regard with wonder, into the grand reception- chamber, and steps out with them upon the balcony. The beautiful city of Cairo now lies spread out before them. Over there glitters the Nile, like a silver ribbon, and beyond tower aloft the wondrous forms of the great Pyramids of Gheezeh.

A cry of delight escapes the lips of the boys. "Oh, how beautiful, how glorious, father!"

"Yes, beautiful is Cairo; beautiful is Egypt, my sons. All that you see spread out before you is mine. I am the ruler of Egypt; you shall be its rulers after me, and our house shall become great and glorious. This I swear, by Allah! I will not, like my predecessors, be deposed from my throne and descend the hill on which stands the proud citadel of Cairo. I swear, by Allah, that my house shall continue to rule over Egypt, and it shall be inscribed in the books of history: 'Mohammed Ali was the first free viceroy of Egypt, and his sons succeeded him on the throne.' Swear to me, my sons, that you will one day become good and just rulers over Egypt!"

"We swear that we will, father! We will one day become good and just rulers over Egypt!" the three boys reply, as with one voice, their eyes sparkling, their countenances radiant with the light of high resolve.

"You have heard it, Allah!" cries the father, in solemn tones, his head bowed down, his right hand uplifted. "I will firmly establish the rule of my house, and my sons have sworn to become good and just rulers. Then be thou, also, our gracious ruler, and with thy great prophet, Mohammed, look down with favor upon the four human beings who stand humbly in thy presence! Not the vassal of the grand-sultan at Stamboul, but the free, independent viceroy, will I be, and after me shall my sons rule--this I swear! Seal thou my resolve with thy blessing, O Allah!"