“I have had the good fortune to find it,” said Dervish Bey, “near to the spot where the Khanum was sitting.” So saying, he handed it to Hassan, who delivered it to the owner.
“Pray express my thanks to him,” said Emily.
In obeying this command Hassan employed language so correct and courteous that the Bey’s curiosity was excited, and he fixed upon him a glance of keen scrutiny. His eye was met by one frank and fearless as his own; and while the Bey looked with admiration at the noble features and commanding form of the young Bedouin, our hero thought that he had never seen the vigour of manhood so happily united to a snowy beard—that object of profound reverence to youth in the East.
No sooner had the Bey left than Mr Thorpe asked Hassan if they had ever met before.
“No,” he replied; “I am only just arrived, and know not who he is.” They then communicated to him the intelligence which Demetri had obtained respecting his name and history.
“What!” exclaimed Hassan, “is that the famous Dervish, the swordsman? Often have I heard Delì Pasha speak of his gallant feats in Arabia, and he looks like what they say of him: would that I had met him when he was twenty years younger!”
“Wherefore, Hassan?” inquired Emily, timidly.
“That I might have proved my sword against his,” replied Hassan, his eyes flashing as he spoke.
“Surely, Hassan,” said Mr Thorpe, mildly, “you could not indulge in hostile feelings towards one whose manner and appearance entitle him to respect.”
“I was wrong, sir,” replied Hassan; “I should ask pardon for my hasty speech. I have lived so much of late among those who are always engaged in strife, that I almost forgot that life has any other occupation. Believe me that I pay due honour to his white beard, and in the hasty words which I spoke I only meant that I envied him the honourable fame that his sword has obtained for him.”