“Indeed!” said Nicæus, with a thoughtful air. “My letters did not prepare me for this. ‘Tis sudden! Is Amurath himself in the field?”
“No; Karam Bey commands. I have accounted for my delay to the Sultan by pretended difficulties in our treaty, and have held out the prospect of a larger tribute.”
“When we are plotting that that tribute should be paid no longer!” added Nicæus, with a smile.
“Alas! my dear friend,” replied the Turkish commander, “my situation has now become critical. Hitherto my services for the Moslemin have been confined to acting against nations of their own faith. I am now suddenly summoned to combat against my secret creed, and the best allies of what I must yet call my secret country. The movement, it appears to me, must be made now or never, and I cannot conceal from myself, that it never could have been prosecuted under less auspicious circumstances.”
“What, you desponding!” exclaimed Nicæus; “then I must despair. Your sanguine temper has alone supported me throughout all our dangerous hopes.”
“And Æschylus?” said the stranger, smiling.
“And Æschylus, certainly,” replied Nicæus; “but I have lived to find even Æschylus insipid. I pant for action.”
“It may be nearer than we can foresee,” replied the stranger. “There is a God who fashions all things. He will not desert a righteous cause. He knoweth that my thoughts are as pure as my situation is difficult. I have some dim ideas still brooding in my mind, but we will not discuss them now. I must away, dear Prince. The breeze serves fairly. Have you ever seen Hunniades?”
“I was educated at the Court of Transylvania,” replied Nicæus, looking down with a somewhat embarrassed air. “He is a famous knight, Christendom’s chief bulwark.”
The Turkish commander sighed. “When we meet again,” he said, “may we meet with brighter hopes and more buoyant spirits. At present, I must, indeed, say farewell.”