"For murder," was the reply; "and a very cold-blooded murder too."
"He is a Circassian," continued the gaoler, "and the firman for his execution arrived at Sivas two years ago."
"Yes," said the old man, in a whining voice, "two years ago! and I have been kept in suspense ever since. It is an awful thing, Effendi—I never know from one hour to another that it may not be my last!"
"Why was he not executed?" I inquired of the official.
"Our Governor dislikes shedding blood," said the gaoler," and he has put the firman away in a drawer."
"Yes," interrupted the aged murderer; "Issek Pacha is a kind man, he will not put me to death; but he is very old—he may die! The Governor who will succeed him might find the firman, and order me to be hanged!"
"Well, what do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Only, Effendi, to beseech the Pacha to tear up the firman!" cried the old man in imploring tones. "Let me end my years in the prison, for here every one is kind to me; and let me not be strangled at the end of a rope on the scaffold!"
"Well, I will speak to Issek Pacha," I said; and with difficulty escaping from the murderer, who threw himself on all fours and frantically embraced my legs, I walked to the governor's residence.
He was seated on a sofa at one end of a large hall, and surrounded by attendants with documents awaiting his signature. He at once rose, and motioned to me to sit down by his side. After the customary salutations, I mentioned to him that I had just visited the prison and had seen the old murderer.