“I must go and communicate this happy news to our dear boy: you know not how his heart has longed to find and embrace his mother. Amina, may I take him a message from you? What shall I say to him?”
A blush passed over the face of the maiden as she replied in a low voice, “Say to him what your kind heart dictates. With my father’s permission I will not gainsay your words.”
“May I tell him, then,” said the veteran, “that his faithful love is returned?”
Amina raised her liquid eyes to her father’s face, and meeting there an approving smile, she murmured, “Now, and for ever!”
With what a light and buoyant heart did the old soldier mount his horse to return to his house and communicate his budget of glad tidings to his son; but he was doomed to disappointment, for on inquiring for Hassan he was nowhere to be found. One of the sàises, on being questioned, stated that he had ridden out early in the morning, accompanied by Abou-Hamedi, but no one knew whither he had gone.
“Rash boy!” exclaimed Dervish Bey; “now has he overthrown all our plans, and dipped our hands in scalding water. He was under arrest, and ordered to remain within these walls. Mohammed Ali will be furious, and Allah knows how we shall appease his anger.”
Let us now explain the circumstances which had led to Hassan’s sudden disappearance.
Before the dawn of this same day Hassan had been roused from his sleep by the entrance of Murad, the dumb boy, who had with the greatest difficulty awakened the drowsy bowàb and obtained admittance. Our hero saw at a glance that his young protégé’s countenance was haggard and careworn, and that he was exhausted by fatigue.
After ordering some bread and a cup of coffee to be brought immediately, he asked Murad in his usual kindly tone what had led him to come before daylight, and why he looked so pale and fatigued. The little boy gazed at him earnestly, and then with his fast-moving fingers said, “A matter of life and death.”
“Rest and compose yourself for a few moments,” replied Hassan, who saw that the boy was in a state of nervous excitement, and he would not permit him to begin his story until he had eaten some bread and drunk his cup of coffee. But the secret with which Murad’s breast was charged was of such a nature that he longed to unburden it to his protector, fearing that the loss even of a few minutes might be productive of disastrous consequences.