"And in this body is some of the blood of the Castriots! Humph!"
Turning away he paced the tent—
"And why not Castriot's blood in Amesa! It is not too immaculate to flow in his veins, since it has filled my own. I was a Turk, too, once. But——" looking at the wrinkles upon his hand—"growing old in a better service may atone somewhat for the shame of earlier days. And these hands never murdered a peaceful neighbor and his innocent wife, and robbed a child of her inheritance—though they did murder that poor Reis-Effendi. But God knows it could not be helped. But what is one man that he shall condemn another!" An officer approached for orders.
"What, Sire, shall be done with the prisoner?"
"Let him lie until Constantine comes!" was the response.
Late in the night the general sat gazing upon the miserable heap of humanity that crouched by the tent side. Amesa raised himself as far as his bonds would permit, and began to speak.
"Silence!" demanded Castriot, but without taking his eyes from the prisoner.
A subaltern, anxious to induce the general to take needed rest, again suggested some disposition of the prisoner for the night.
"Let him lie until Constantine comes!"
"Captain Constantine has been captured, Sire," replied the officer; "men who were with him have returned, and so report."