After some inconsequent conversation, Selim inquired how the Baron had contrived to divert the weary hours of his captivity; and was answered that he had endeavoured to lighten them by books, and by gazing out upon the Sea of Marmora from his kiosk. Bulhakoff sighed as he made the reply, and remembered how much more they had been brightened by the affection of the fair Rèchèdi Hanoum; and he almost felt as though he were an ingrate that he did not add her smiles and her solicitude to the list of his prison-blessings.
“The same volume and the same kiosk cannot please for ever;” said the Sultan with a smile; “and you would not, doubtlessly, be sorry to exchange your books against the conversation of your fellow-men; nor your view of the blue Propontis for one more novel. A prison is but a prison at the best, even though you may be locked up with all the courtesy in the world. But your captivity is not likely to endure much longer. Shekiur Allah!—Praise be to God—I am intimately acquainted with the Sultan’s favourite; and I know that, had not the meddling ministers of England and France sought to drive the new sovereign into an act of justice, which he had resolved to perform from inclination, you would have been, ere this, at liberty. Do not therefore be induced to lend yourself or your countenance to any intrigue that they may make to liberate you, and which will only tend to exasperate His Highness; but wait patiently for another month, and at its expiration you will be set free, and restored to your country.”
“I trust that you may prove a true prophet—” said the Baron; and his visitors shortly afterwards departed.
The days wore on; the month was almost at an end, and yet the captive noble had never ventured to breathe to the fair girl who loved him the probability of his liberation. He shrank from the task almost with trembling, for he felt that even to him the parting would be a bitter one—even to him, although he was about to recover liberty, and country, and friends. What, then, would it be to her? to “his caged bird,” as he had often fondly called her—who knew no joy save in his presence—no liberty save that of loving him! As the twilight fell sadly over the sea, and the tall trees of the prison-garden grew dark and gloomy in the sinking light, he remembered how ardently they had both watched for that still hour, soon to be one of tenfold bitterness to the forsaken Rèchèdi Hanoum; and there were moments in which he almost wished that she had never loved him.
But the hour of trial came at last. Selim had redeemed his word, and Bulhakoff was free. His companions in captivity would fain have quitted the fortress within the hour; but the liberated prisoner lingered. He gave no reason for his delay; he offered no explanation of his motives; he simply announced his resolution not to quit the Tower until the morrow; and then he shut himself into his chamber, and passed there several of the most bitter hours of his captivity.
Once more twilight lay long upon the waters—the time of tryst was come—the last which the beautiful young Hanoum was ever to keep with her lover. She had long forgotten the possibility of his liberation; and when she stole from her chamber to the shadow of the tall cypresses that had so often witnessed their meeting, her heart bounded like her step. But no fond smile welcomed her coming—no reproach, more dear than praise, murmured against her tardiness—Bulhakoff was leaning his head against the tree beside which he stood, and the young beauty had clasped within her own the chill and listless hand that hung at his side, ere with a painful start he awakened from his reverie.
The interview was short; but brief as was its duration it had taught the wretched girl that for her there was no future save one of misery. She did not weep—her burning eyeballs were too hot for tears. She could not weep, for the drops of anguish would have dimmed the image of him whom she had loved, and was about to lose. She made no reply to the withering tidings he had brought, for what had words to do with such a grief as her’s? She was like one who dreamt a fearful dream; and when she turned away to regain her chamber, she walked with a firm step, for her heart was broken; and she had nothing now left to do but to veil from her lover the extent of her own anguish, lest she should add to the bitterness of his.
The morrow came. The Baron turned a long, soul-centered look-towards the lattices of his young love, and quitted her for ever; and, ere many weeks were spent, the same group of cypresses which had overshadowed the trysting-place of Rèchèdi Hanoum gloomed above her grave.