and hand it to Thyra, it was to her a moment of supreme pleasure.
Her dark eyes sparkled, her soft cheek flushed, and her jewelled fingers trembled as they held the crystal glass, filled with what, for his sake, and independent of its own nature, was to her as the nectar of the gods.
"Hark! What noise is that?" asked Jack, with such suddenness, that Thyra spilt some of the wine ere it could reach her lips.
There was indeed a sound in the street like the blended hum of many voices, and tread of many feet, each moment becoming louder.
"Perhaps it is some procession," said Harry Girdwood.
"Or a march round of the troops before the new pasha," said Mole. "Oh, how I pity him."
"No, there's something up more dreadful than that, I am sure," exclaimed the orphan. "Oh, this terrible country. I'll go home to-morrow if they'll only let me."
"Here, Tinker, you black son of a gun; go up on the roof, and see what's the matter," said Jack.
The nigger ascended as nimbly as a monkey.
At that moment a thundering knock came at the outer gate.