“Because,” she replied, while blushes mantled over her face and neck—“because I knew how much you valued that sword.”
Oh, you little hypocrite, Amina!
Delì Pasha recovered slowly, and for several days never left his harem: something seemed to weigh upon his mind, and all Amina’s caresses and endearments were unable to restore his usual spirits. She could not understand the cause of this melancholy, for his lost sword had been recovered, the young Mameluke Kasem had been liberated by his order, and Mohammed Ali had shown his regard for him and his appreciation of the Arab mare Nebleh by sending an officer specially to inquire after his health, and to present him with a diamond ring on the part of his Highness, accompanied by a handsome sword for Ahmed Aga and a cashmere shawl for Hassan.
By dint of coaxing she at length elicited from him that his proud spirit was chafing at the humiliation to which he had been exposed by the outbreak of his ungovernable temper before all his household, and that exposure he most unjustly laid to the account of Hassan.
“My father,” she said as she sat at his feet, while his hand unconsciously played with the dark, redundant tresses that fell over her shoulders, “now that anger and illness have passed away, and that your good health and judgment are returning, do you not see that what Hassan did was done in fidelity and true service to you? Had he not spoken and stayed you in a moment when wrath had clouded your reason, the poor Mameluke would have been beaten nearly to death for a fault of which he was innocent. What would then have been said of my father’s justice and humanity? Now that all has terminated so happily, ought you not rather to thank Hassan than to blame him?”
“I will thank him,” said her father, “for you speak truly; he deserves it. But methinks you plead his cause with great earnestness, Amina.” As he said these last words he looked fixedly at his daughter, who cast down her eyes, deeply blushing.
“My father,” she replied timidly and with suppressed emotion, “you know our proverb, ‘El-rghàib ma lehu nàib’ [The absent has no advocate], and I have often heard from you that it is right to defend those who are absent and who are unjustly blamed. You have yourself spoken to me of the zeal, the courage, and good qualities of this Hassan, and I therefore felt sure that it was from his devotion to you, and not from insolence, that he spoke to you at a moment when your mind was not your own, and thus prevented you from doing that which would have cost you after-pain, in the experience of our saying, ‘Precipitation is from Satan, but patience is the key of contentment.’ You are not angry with me, are you, father?”
“Who could be angry with you, light of my eyes and treasure of my heart?” exclaimed the old Pasha, kissing her forehead. “No, my child; yet you know not what sufferings my mind has undergone. When one of those fits of fury is upon me, if any one opposes or remonstrates with me, I become mad. Hassan’s speech, though true, drove me to the extreme of madness and to the verge of murder.” Here his voice became husky with emotion. “Yes, Amina, I rushed at him with a drawn dagger; he never stirred, but opened his breast to me. I was in the act of striking when I met his large dark eye fixed upon me, not in fear, not in anger, but in love—yes, Amina, it was a look he might have fixed upon his mother, if he had one, poor youth! It conquered me! for the last thing that I remember was, that I passed the weapon purposely beyond his shoulder; but how he must hate—how he must despise me now!”
Amina’s tears gushed from between the fair fingers that vainly strove to hide them. That her father should have been on the verge of murdering the idol of her heart,—that he, in the pride of youth and strength, should have bared his breast to the dagger rather than raise an arm against her father,—these thoughts produced contending emotions of horror and tenderness sufficient to overpower her self-control, and she wept without interruption, for Delì Pasha himself was much overcome by the feelings which he had just expressed.
At length she looked up, smiling through her tears, and said, “Father, if he is brave and generous as you say, he will not hate you. Tell him frankly the truth—that in a moment when your mind was overclouded by anger you did him injustice—and he will love you, and you will love him, better than before.”