CHAPTER XXXVII.
An hour later the Kislar Aga, chief of the black eunuchs in charge of the royal harem, was announced.
"Well, Sinam, have any of your herd of gazelles escaped?" asked the Sultan.
"None. But Mira Sultana would pay her homage at your Majesty's feet."
"Mira, the Greek?" said Mahomet, the deep color rising to his temples.
Lowering his tone to a whisper, he conversed for a few moments with the eunuch, who prostrated himself upon the ground, and with harsh, yet thin voice, said:
"Your Majesty is wise, very wise. Your will is that of Allah, the Great Hunkiar. It shall be done."
Mira was a beautiful woman. The light texture of her robe revealed a perfect form; and the thin veil lent a charm to her face, such as shadows send across the landscape.
Mahomet shuddered, as the kneeling woman embraced his feet. The words of her congratulation to the young monarch, her protestation of devotion to him as to his father, though uttered with the sweetest voice he had ever heard, and with evident honesty, sent a visible tremor through the frame of her listener. And when she added, "My child, Ahmed, the image of his noble father and thine, will serve thee with his life, and"—
"It is well! It is well," interrupted the Sultan. "Be gone now!"