Pris. Oh! on my knees a thousand times I have thanked Heaven that he partook not of this dire abode—that he shared not with me my hard usage!—a greater blessing I possess'd from that, than all his loved society cou'd have given—but in a happy world, where smiling nature pours her boundless gifts!—oh! there his loss wou'd be unsufferable.
Has. Do you lament him dead?
Pris. Yes—or, like me, a prisoner—else he wou'd have sought me out—have sought his Arabella!—[Haswell starts.]—Why do you start?
Has. Are you a Christian?—an European?
Ara. I am.
Has. The name made me suppose it.—I am shocked that——the Christian's sufferings—[Trying to conceal his surprise.]—but were you made a prisoner in the present Sultan's reign?
Ara. Yes, or I had been set free on his ascent to the throne; for he gave pardon to all the enemies of the slain monarch: but I was taken in a vessel, where I was hurried in the heat of the battle with a party of the late Emperor's friends—and all the prisoners were by the officers of the present Sultan sent to slavery, or confined, as I have been, in hopes of ransom from their friends.
Has. And did never intelligence or inquiry reach you from your husband?
Ara. Never.
Has. Never?