This is Masa's blood, shed for him! He kisses the spot, and binds the cloth around his neck—the cloth she has worn, the cloth inscribed with her blood! A holy remembrance of her, he will never part with it. It shall protect him from the rude wind of the world.
He lays his hand on Masa's tresses again; he looks at the cup, and sits there motionless, absorbed in thought, for a long time.
His whole past rises up before him. He is once more at home, on the rude rock where he spent his youth.
He sees every thing once more; sees, also, the pale face of his
Osman, of his dear friend.
He is dead—his sons have told him that Osman is dead.
"It is well for him that he is, he suffered much," he murmurs, in low tones. "I, also, have suffered much. And yet I have also experienced much happiness, and shall probably do so in the future, also," he continues, in louder tones. "Sink down behind me, past! the future is mine. And now be strong, Mohammed; arise and be a man! The past is at an end! Masa, you have to-day sent me a greeting through my sons. Farewell! Now I belong to the present and to the future. Farewell!"
He rises, walks with firm footstep through the apartment, and enters the room where Ada and his sons are awaiting him.
"Come, my sons, I will show you my capital, the most beautiful of all cities—I will show you Cairo. Come!"
He takes his sons by the hand, and, alas! he forgets the poor woman who is regarding him tenderly, and down whose cheeks two tears slowly trickle as the door closes behind him.
Mohammed leads his sons through the long suite of splendid apartments, which they regard with wonder, into the grand reception- chamber, and steps out with them upon the balcony. The beautiful city of Cairo now lies spread out before them. Over there glitters the Nile, like a silver ribbon, and beyond tower aloft the wondrous forms of the great Pyramids of Gheezeh.