'Allah—Allah! Amaum! Amaum!' cried Ali Pasha, and the crowd of Turks. A confused discharge of pistols took place, and pierced by more than twenty balls, the mother fell dead with her blood spouting over her children, and so ended the dispute; for the sun set at that moment, and they all hastened out, to kneel and say the Salât al Moghreb, or evening prayer, so Hussein was left in possession alike of the dead body, of the children, and the premises.
After rifling the corpse of its rings and jewels, he took away the orphans to make slaves of them.
Perceiving that the girl, Iola, then in her sixth year, promised to be beautiful, he kept her; the boy, Constantine, he gave to Ali Pasha, colonel of the Bombardiers, who made a soldier of him, and in time he became a lieutenant of Albanians in the service of the Sultan—but he never forgot the cause for which his father fought—vengeance for Greece, or the death which his mother died; and thus, seeking the first opportunity of leaving a service so hateful as that of Abdul Medjid, he had deserted from Heraclea; but was retaken, tried and sent back by the Mahmoudieh steam-ship, and on the morrow was to die. The cry of the exterminating angel would be heard, and an Unbeliever would perish like a withered bud, or like a palm-tree struck by lightning.
I cannot express the aversion we felt for the old Yuze Bashi, who with singular coolness related the part he had borne in this barbarous episode of the Egyptian revolt; and which, with occasional whiffs of his chibouque, he related as quietly as one might do the account of a little shooting excursion, or the result of a pic-nic party, and nothing more.
'And Iola—the daughter,' I asked; 'what became of her?'
'That I cannot tell you,' said he; 'she is never named to me now.'
'Does she know of the fate that hangs over her brother?'
'No!'
'She is dead, then?'
'To him—and to the world, at least.'